


The Goth's Mute

by MoHowl



Category: South Park
Genre: BoyxBoy, COMPLETE!, Forbidden Love, Gay Sex, Goth - Freeform, Goth love, Goths, High School, Homophobia, Homosexuals, Kissing, Lemons, Limes, Love, M/M, Mute - Freeform, Pyrophobia, Scars, bxb - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 36,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoHowl/pseuds/MoHowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greyson Talon is sent to live with the Broflovskis after being rejected by yet another foster home. He catches the eye of the red and black haired Goth, Pete. What's a mute to do, especially since their love is forbidden?</p>
<p>Pete (Red Goth) x OMC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted on FF.net, but since the lemon police are out and about on there, I wanted to repost this story onto here as a "just in case" thing. 
> 
> I will only say this once: I do not own South Park. I only own Greyson Talon and the plot to this story.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, but there was no other way.”

I ignored the social worker driving the car and stared at the snow-covered mountains in the distance.

“South Park is a nice little town, and the Broflovskis are a great family. They can’t wait to meet you. You should be happy you a are going to a decent family,” she added in a tone that told me she was tired of my ignoring her. “Greyson, are you listening to me?”

I sighed, unconsciously playing stroking a scar on my left forearm. It was a reminder of a darker time, much like the rest of my scars; the reason I was sent away from my last foster home and now being relocated to Colorado.

“Sheila and Gerald have two boys. One is around your age so you’ll have someone to talk to.”

Rolling my eyes, I slouched further against the seat. If that chick thinks I’m going to be friendly, she had another thing coming. Thanks to my past, I do not trust or even talk to anyone. I have not spoken in so long I’m kind of scared my vocal cords will break if I try.

“We’re here!”

A quaint wooden sign with ‘South Park’ painted on it announced where the city limits started. It was very . . . creative.

The social worker went left two times then right three times, and pulled to a stop in front of a dark green house. She turned off the car and got out.

“Come on, Greyson!”

I heaved another sigh but got out, slinging my black backpack over my shoulder. The snow crunched under my old blue sneakers as we walked to the front door. The social worker knocked a few times, and I surprised by how fast it was answered.

The door opened to reveal a rather chubby woman with a red beehive hairdo wearing a blue suit. She had a broad smile on her plump face and warmly invited us into her house. I could tell in a n instant that this house was full of love and somewhat understanding. Deep in my heart I knew this was where I needed to be, but I could never fully allow myself the luxury of having a family.

“Thank you for being on time, Ms. Lairn,” said Sheila in a somewhat Jersey accent, which surprised me a bit. She turned her green eyes onto me and added, “And this must by Greyson.”

I nodded and stuck out my hand. After a few heartbeats Sheila grasped it in her own pudgy hand. It was warm and soft, something I was not used to.

“And so polite!” She let out a hearty laugh and released my hand. “I can’t remember the last time someone shook my hand.” Her smile broadened. “You must have been brought up nicely to have such manners.”

I dipped my head again and tried to smile a bit. I doubted that she knew that I had been slammed into walls for forgetting my manners.

“He had excellent manners,” said Ms. Lairn, “but he does not talk.”

Sheila raised an eyebrow. I lowered my gaze to the red carpet.

“He does not like to be in the room when I talk about this.” She frowned when I shot a glare at her. “Would you like to see your new room?” I’ve seen this routine before: go upstairs, let Ms. Lairn tell the parent or parents about my past, then possibly leave because the family did not want that type of baggage. It’s happened before. “We can talk while he gets settled.”

“O-Of course. Help yourself to some tea. I’ll show him to his room.” Sheila offered a smile to Ms. Lairn. “He’ll be fine here. Come on, Greyson.” She led the way up a set of carpeted stairs then down the hall to a door that had a ‘Keep Out’ sign taped to it. “This is it.” She opened the door and stepped aside so I could enter the room.

It was obvious a teenager occupied it: a small television and gaming system on a small table next to a dresser that had clothes spilling out of it, a half-way made bed against the wall opposite the television and a fully made bed was next to the window, a closet with random stuff peeking out, and a computer sat on a desk next by the closet.

“Your bed is by the window. Kyle is out with his friends somewhere, but should be home in a while. I know about your past, Greyson,” she continued in a soft voice, “but we have already looked past that. None of it was your fault, and you can stay here if you want.”

I nodded, and Sheila left me with my thoughts. I walked across the green carpet to the bed by the window. The soft-looking comforter was a dark blue - like the night sky – and the bedsprings did not squeak when I sat down. My bag slipped off my shoulder. I unzipped it, then dumped my stuff on the bed: three pairs of dark, jeans, four tightly rolled-up shirts, five pairs of socks, several boxer shorts, a wad of cash held together with a rubber band – my savings account – and my pocketknife. I need to run to the store soon to get school supplies and mores clothes. Maybe Kyle know the best places to shop.

Shoving my things back into the bag, I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me. I kicked off my sneakers and curled up on top of the covers with my back to the wall.

Xoxoxoxoxo

“Hey! Hey! Wake up! Mom says dinner’s ready!”

I opened my eyes and flinched at the face that was barely two feet away from my own. Instinctively, I swiped at the face.

“Whoa!”

A young teenager with jet black hair and brown eyes bounced away, holding his hands up in surrender. “Dude! What the hell?”

Regret pulsed through me. I sat up and stared at my socked feet.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I shrugged.

“Mom says you don’t talk. Is that true?”

I nodded. 

“Oh! I’m Ike,” said the teen, lowering his hands. “Are you Greyson? You must be ‘cause Mom hasn’t shut up about you for weeks.”

My face began to heat up. I didn’t know Sheila was so interested in having my stay with her family. A hand appeared in my line of vision, and I flinched away.

“Sorry, man.” Ike withdrew his hand. “I guess you’re not used to contact.”

I shook my head. Heaving myself to my feet, I motioned for the teenager to lead the way. Spices permeated the air as we went downstairs. My stomach rumbled loudly, a reminder that I had not eaten since this morning.

“Smells like Mom made lasagna,” said Ike as he literally bounced down the last couple steps.

I have not had a decent lasagna in years, not since my second family. I followed Ike into the comfy kitchen/dining room. Five chair surrounded a circular table covered in delicious food: a huge pan of steaming lasagna, a bowl of fresh fruit and another of salad mix.   
Five glasses of iced tea sat beside the plates, and I notices one glass was already half-empty.

“Have a seat, boys,” said Sheila as she sat down.

Ike sat in the chair next to his mother. “You can sit here, Greyson,” he said, motioning to the chair beside him.

I flashed him a grateful look then sat in my new chair.

“Can you go with Greyson to the mall tomorrow? He needs to get some things.”

“Sure, Dad.”

“Maybe your friends can go with you.”

“Okay. Stan and I want to see if that new game is out yet anyway.”

Two guys walked into the kitchen, one way older than the other with receding brown hair and a goatee; he must be Sheila’s husband Gerald so the other must be Kyle. He looked about my age with very curly red hair, deep green eyes, and a dash of freckled across his nose. His blue jeans were scuffed at the knees and white shirt had flecks of dried blood on the front.

“Gerald, Kyle, this is Greyson.” Warmth flooded Sheila’s voice as she introduced me.

I hopped to my feet and held out my right hand. The other males looked surprised at my greeting but shook my hand.

“You’re a polite young man, aren’t you?” asked Gerald.

I nodded then sat back down.

“Are you okay, dude?”

“He does not speak,” Sheila explained, “but that does not make him any less of a person. And he is staying with us for as long as he likes so you should treat him as family.”

I guess my name is now Greyson Talon-Broflovski.


	2. Friends

Sharing a room with another person was something I was used to. But I would not undress in the bedroom, in front of my new ‘brother.’ He could not see my scars to the lingering bruises that littered my upper body, a deep purple-blue against the pale flesh. When he had told me good night, I nodded to him. He seemed to understand because he did not appear offended.

And apparently Ike told him his experience of waking me because Kyle stood away from me when he shook my shoulder. It was the first time I had not been disturbed by a nightmare but was grateful he woke me. I was somewhat pleased that he actually wanted to take me to the mall with his friends.

Now I’m standing in the snow, blue sneakers getting soaked, blue and black striped shirt hidden under my black coat, and a heavy wallet stuffed into the back pocket of my dark blue jeans. I had brushed my reddish-brown hair in a way that made it look spiky and the wind was making it worse.

“Where the fuck is he?” growled Kyle, adjusting his green hat to cover his ears. Red curls escaped their prison and were being tugged by the wind.

I cocked my head to the side.

“My best friend, Stan, is supposed to be giving us a ride.”

I gazed at the snow. I’ve never had a best friend, let alone a normal friend.

“About time!”

A grey car pulled up and the passenger window rolled down. “Get your Jew ass in the car, Kyle!” A rather heavy teen with short brown hair and brown eyes in a red coat leaned out the window. “We don’t have all fuckin’ day!”

This was Kyle’s best friend? What a dick.

“Shut up, Cartman!”

The back door opened and Kyle motioned for me to get it. I slid across the seat until I came to a halt when my left leg brushed against something solid and warm. I followed the blue-jeaned leg to an orange coat then to a soft face. Cobalt blue eyes peered out from a curtain of blonde hair. I could feel my face heat up.

“Hey, Kenny!” Kyle got in beside me and shut the door.

The blonde, Kenny, smiled in greeting then kicked the back of the driver’s seat.

“Damn it, Kenny!” The driver peered over the side of the seat and narrowed his dark blue eyes. “Kick my seat one more fuckin’ time and I’ll throw your ass out!” He flicked jet black bangs out of his face before he greeted Kyle with a wide grin, which the red head returned.

“Can we go now?” asked Cartman in a whiny voice. “We already wasted ten minutes on po’ boy, and now we’re sitting here like a bunch of fags!”

I narrowed my eyes at the brunette. “Fags” was a word I did not like.

“So what’s your name?”

I folded my hands in my lap and looked down.

“What? Are you too stuck-up to tell me your name?”

“Leave him alone, fat-ass.”

“I’m not fat, you fuck!”

I turned my head away from the front of the car. Of course, with my luck, I was face to face with Kenny. He smiled, but I did not know if it was mocking, sincere, or apologetic.

“Does he think he’s too good to give us his fuckin’ name?”

“He can’t talk, you douche!”

I winced and, judging by the look on Kenny’s face, he had seen it. “Why can’t you talk?”

“Mom said he damaged his vocal cords by inhaling smoke from a fire.”

“That’s harsh,” Stan commented, finally putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb.

“His voice is probably girly anyway,” Cartman sneered.

The fat fuck is dead.

A warm hand cupped my thigh for a moment then released with a squeeze. Kenny had a reassuring smile on his face, and I forced down my blush.

Xoxoxoxoxo

The mall was a lot bigger than I thought it was. I guess I thought it was going to be small because the town was small. But it did not take me long to locate the clothing stores. Cartman immediately ditched us to go to the food court. Stan and Kyle dashed off to the gaming store to check on the progress of a game. Kenny left, but with some kind of reluctance, to look at something in a comic book store.

It didn’t take me but thirty minutes to buy four pairs of jeans, six new shirts, and several packets of socks and boxers. Then I ducked into an emo/Goth store after glancing around to be sure I wasn’t being followed.

“Is there anything I can help you with today?” asked a female employee with pink hair and a nose ring.

I nodded and pointed at an advertisement for an upcoming event.

“Sweet! What color?”

I pointed to a neon blue bag hanging near the poster.

“Alright.” She led the way to an entire section of blue items; my inability to speak did not seem to bother her. “Let’s see . . . We have bracelets, feather boas, socks, gloves, nail polish . . .” She looked at me and smiled. “So what would you like?”

I quickly pointed out the bracelets, gloves and polish. 

“Okey-dokey!”

Xoxoxoxoxo

I stepped out of the store with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment. I was glad that the employee understood what the items I had purchased were for and was actually going to go to it herself. When I was a kid I always wanted to see the event, and even since I turned fourteen I snuck out to attend. I always dressed in the color blue, as a way to reflect the sorrow I felt inside. Maybe this year I won’t paint my face and wear a wig to hide my identity.

“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been ready for an hour!”

The guys appeared from the crowd with a scowling Cartman in the lead. I raised my arms a bit and gave the bags in my hands a small shake.

“Are you finally done shopping? God, you are such a girl!”

I frowned at the chunky one and turned away.

“Nice going, fat-as.” Kenny appeared at my side. “Let me help you.” He held out a hand and, after considering his motives, I gave him a couple bags to hold. I nodded my thanks and walked next to him.

“Better be careful, Talon, or po’ boy Kenneh will steal your girly shit.”

Kenny did not seem like the stealing type, even if he barely had any money. Something about him told me he would not hurt me in that way, but he could hurt me in other ways if he wanted. Kyle and Stan also had the same . . . something. The only one who seemed like he would hurt me at any chance was Cartman.

“Ignore him, Greyson,” said Stan. “He’s just being a dick because they weren’t serving tacos today.” He and Kyle took the lead and headed to a school supply store. “School ends next month so you won’t need much. But Garrison can be an asshole if you come to class unprepared.”

I nodded. About every teacher can be mean when you enter the classroom without the necessary supplies. I guess this Garrison wasn’t any different. I listened as the four guys started to verbally abuse their teacher, but they spoke as if he cursed and abused them as well. I was about to suggest they call the authorities when they started in on how shitty the police system was in this town.  
If the authorities in South Park were really as bad as they say, then I am screwed if someone or something hurts me, especially when I can’t speak without my vocal cords breaking.


	3. The Past is The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has noticed the differences between this version and the version on FF.net, it is intentional. I wrote this story so long ago and I want to clean it up a bit.

I stood outside the classroom to steel my nerves. On the other side of the door a whole class of teenagers were getting ready to take notes or something. Principal Victoria said I was going to be in Garrison’s class and had given me clear instructions not to bring up his past, whatever the hell that meant.

With a quick check to ensure I had all my materials and a readjustment of my left sleeve, I took a deep breath, knocked on the door a couple times, and then walked in. The immediate stares the other students beamed at me almost made me run out. I knew how I must appear to them: a scrawny young man with pale skin, untidy reddish-brown hair and downcast light gray eyes wearing a long-sleeved   
black shirt, ripped blue jeans and blue sneakers caked in mud. 

“You must be the new student.” The teacher had deeply receding grey hair and was dressed in a green shirt matched with brown pants. "I am Mr. Garrison."

I nodded a bit in greeting, and the teacher took the note from the principal I held out.

"'This is your new classmate, Greyson Talon. He moved here from Chicago, Illinois, and cannot speak.'" Garrison gave me a questioning look but shrugged. "Welcome to South Park, Greyson. You can have the desk between Tweek and Butters." The blondes looked up when they heard their names. "Class, we are starting our Geology unit today," he continued as I went to my new desk.

"So you really can't talk?" asked the blonde on my right, innocent blue eyes wide.

I dipped my head.

"Wow . . . I've never met a mute before."

I reached out and softly patted his arm a couple times; he grinned then returned to taking notes. When the others settled down and focused on Garrison, I took the opportunity to glance around. My 'brother' was in my class, sitting in the second row. Stan was on his right and Cartman was on his left. Kenny was in the row behind them and in front of me. A rather pretty girl with long black hair and dressed in purple was passing notes with Stan. Something told me that they were in a relationship. The blonde beside me, Tweek, kept randomly twitching as if he had too much coffee. And a blonde girl sitting near the black-haired girl was . . . staring at me. Something was glinting in her eyes and I felt a shiver race down my spine . . .

Xoxoxoxoxo

I felt no hunger when I stepped into the cafeteria so I picked an empty table and sat down. I folded my arms on the table top then rested my head on them. At least this school was a lot better than my last one. I haven't been shoved into my locker, tripped, hit with books, or forced to spend my lunch period in the library because others would throw their food at me. No one has called me a fag either, let alone write it on my locked with black marker.

"Not hungry, eh?"

A plastic tray clattered on the table.

I looked up at Kyle and shrugged.

"You didn’t eat breakfast either," he observed, sitting down and stabbing a piece of popcorn chicken with his slightly bent fork. "You really should eat something, Greyson."

I shook my head.

"What's wrong, Kyle? Your new bro not gonna eat?" Cartman plopped his fat ass down across from me. "Not hungry, mutey-o?"

I flipped him off.

"Leave him alone," Stan ordered, sitting beside Kyle. Kenny appeared within five seconds and took a seat next to me. "If he doesn't want to eat then leave him alone."

I flashed him a grateful look.

"So what do you guys want to do after school?" asked Kyle.

Cartman said something incoherent with his mouth full of mush.

"Gross, you fat fuck."

"It's supposed to rain tonight," said Stan, "and I can't stay out late."

Kenny chuckled and made a whipping sound.

"I am not whipped!" Stan glared at the laughing blonde. "Wendy likes to hangout. What's wrong with that?"

Cartman swallowed his mouthful. "That hippie bitch has kept you on a short leash since fourth grade. Every time we think of something fun to do you always have to ditch your best friends to hang out with your stupid girlfriend."

I don't know what the big deal was. Stan is lucky to have a significant other, even if they were not married. Wendy did not seem like such a bad person when she introduced herself before lunch. She was actually kind of nice. I felt a twinge of jealousy because I never had someone to hold close to my heart.

"What do you want to do, Greyson?" asked my new brother.

I pushed my upper body off the table then shrugged my scrawny shoulders.

"Are you gonna work on your voice?" Cartman's voice was thick with mocking. "Is that why you can't talk? ‘Cause you have a girlie voice?"

Slamming my hands down on the table top, and ignoring the stinging, I hoisted myself to my feet and stalked off.

"Hey, Greyson!"

"Nice going, you fat douche bag!"

I exited the cafeteria and headed for the library. If Cartman wants to know why I can't talk then I'll show them.

Xoxoxoxoxo

"'At seven o'clock last night firefighters responded to a house fire. The one-story home was almost completely engulfed in flames when they arrived on scene. It took an hour to control the flames, but the house was a total loss. Upon searching through the debris for any unharmed valuables, firefighters discovered twelve-year-old Greyson Talon in a barely sheltered area in the basement. The child had several burn on his back where his shirt had been burned away.

"'Tara and Colbin Talon were found not to have any burns and were devastated to learn their son had been in their burning home. They insist that they did not know their son was in the house, telling reporters that he was at a friend's house. But when the friend in general was questioned, he said Greyson was grounded and not allowed to come over.

"'The Talons were taken in for questioning, and their son was airlifted to the nearest hospital to receive treatment.'"

Four pairs of eyes burned into the back of my head. I could not face them as Kyle read parts of my history out loud. My homework was spread out before me on the living room floor, and I did my best to ignore the orbs of deep emerald, chocolate, navy, and cobalt.

Kyle shuffled through the papers then continued reading.

"'Firefighters have come to the conclusion that the fire that destroyed the Talon home last week was intentional. ’There has been evidence that the fire was started within the home,' says Chief Gonzales. Tara and Colbin Talon have also been tested for controlled substances. They have tested positive for methamphetamines. The Talons have been arrested for the use of a controlled substance and child endangerment.

"'Greyson Talon, the twelve-year-old son of Tara and Colbin, was treated at KCC Hospital for burns and smoke inhalation. Staff at KCC had nothing to say except that Greyson was having a rough recovery. The damage done to his throat and lungs from inhaling the smoke is possibly irreversible.'"

I raised a hand to my throat and massaged the skin there.

"'Even if we can perform surgery on his vocal cords, there is a chance that Greyson will never recover,' said a nurse who has been taking care of Greyson. 'He is a sweet kid. It's horrible that something like this could even happen.'"

"Holy shit," breathed Cartman.

"Greyson wrote something," said Stan. "'Now you know. Keep quiet about this and do not tell anyone. I am trusting you, even Cartman. This is why I can't speak, you asshole!'"

"I am not an asshole!"

A wad of paper hit me on the side of my head. I glared at the chunky brunette, and did not flinch when another paper ball struck my forehead. A small blush did heat up my face when Kenny rested his hand on my knee. 

"Thanks for trusting us, man," said Kyle with a smile.

I nodded and allowed a tiny smile it show. I took the papers from him, sighed heavily then torn up the sheets. My past was my past.   
There’s no going back so I might as well face the future with open arms.


	4. My Savior, the Goth

"Dudes, Token's throwing another party tonight!"

"We should go."

"Wanna go to a party, Greyson?"

I shrugged, not looking up from my drawing of a tribal moon. I'd rather stay home and catch up on sleep. But Cartman will probably complain about how emo I am then drag me wherever anyways.

"Sweet! No being emo this weekend!"

I knew it. I raised my hand and, after admiring the pencil smudges on the side of my palm, leaned over to wipe it on Cartman's chubby face.

"Ah! Dude!"

Kenny, Stan and Kyle laughed happily at Cartman's outburst. I ducked my head to hide my smile.

I've been living in South Park for two weeks now, and everything has been going okay since I showed the guys how I lost my ability to speak. Sheila and Gerald have been great, and I am starting to develop brotherly relationships with Kyle and Ike. Stan has taken a liking toward me and Cartman treats me like a frenemy like everyone else he knows, but he has kept my secret so far.

"When is the party?" asked Kenny, scooting closer to me to get a better view of my drawing.

"Nine. His parents are going out of town, and Token found the key to the booze cabinet." Cartman rubbed his hands together like a miser. "It's gonna be suh-weet!"

I raised my eyebrows at him. What was so great about going to a party where everyone was either passed out with marker on their face, playing drunken-Wii, or getting laid? I've never been to a party, but the teens of the previous families I've lived with have gone. Almost every time they were brought home by the cops, and I have had enough of cops.

"That is really cool," Kenny commented, leaning close enough that his breath heated my cheek.

I playfully shouldered him away. Kenny and I have become real good friends, especially since I nearly had a heart attack when he was run over by a bus. I do not know how he lived but he appeared at the bus stop the next morning.

"Oh my god!" Cartman looked past me. "They actually showed up for class."

"Well they have to come to class sometime," said Kyle, returning to his painting.

I twisted around in my seat to follow Cartman's gaze. Why the hell is he so surprised? I watched four teenagers walk into the art classroom; three were around my age and the fourth looked to be around Ike's age. All were dressed in black. The eldest seemed to be wearing what could be described as a funeral suit and had curly hair; the girl had a dress and long hair; the second guy had on normal black shirt and jeans and his hair had red highlights; and the youngest wore black shirt and jeans but had purple lipstick. I can't tell if their hair was natural or dyed.

"Fuckin' Goths," Cartman growled. He wadded up a piece of paper and threw it in their general direction. "Call us conformists when they wear the same damn clothes. They are the conformists!" he added loudly.

I heaved a silent sigh and returned to my picture. Who gives a fuck if they are Goth? No matter what group anyone belongs to they are going to be called conformists.

"What do you think about the Goths, Greyson?"

I brushed my bangs out my face then shrugged. I don't really give a damn.

"Leave the Goths alone, fat ass." Stan punched him on the arm. "We'll meet at Token's at nine."

Xoxoxoxoxo

I decided to skip my last class - English History - because my teacher is a dick. Mr. Daro had yelled at me when I did not read from my book when I was called on, even though I had shown him the note from Principal Victoria on the first day. I really was not in the mood to get called a hopeless voice.

I hid on the steps behind the school with my backpack at my feet. My arms were folded over my knees, and I rested my chin on my wrists. It's quiet back here and I like it. I may hide out here during eighth period from the remainder of the school year.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

The four Goths from my art class were standing over me. All were glaring at me to the point where even the youngest looking intimidating.

"You're the guy who hangs out with that loud-mouthed fat-ass," snarled the curly-haired one.

"Are you here to spy on us?" demanded the youngest, pulling a switchblade out of his pocket.

I snatched my bag with one hand and pushed myself up with the other. If they want their spot then they can have it. I don't want my blood spilled over a few concrete steps. But before I could go too far the female Goth spoke up, "You're the new guy, aren't you?"

I nodded, glancing over my shoulder at the quartet.

"Is it true, that you're a mute?"

I lowered my gaze to my muddied sneakers. I am so sick of hearing that question. If someone asks me if I'm mute one more time, I'm going to explode! Rage seared through my veins, setting my blood on fire.

"You're probably getting sick of being asked that." I heard a lighter flick then smelled cigarette smoke.

A flash of panic coursed through my being and a thick shiver raced down my spine. I slung my bag over my shoulder. With a fearful glance at the cigarette in the female's hand, I hurried away.

"What the hell is his problem?"

"Who cares? Do you have extra cigarettes?"

Xoxoxoxoxo

Kyle and I left home at eight-thirty. I had switched my school outfit for tight black jeans, a dark blue thermal shirt and the blue bracelet I had bought at the mall. The walk to Token's house was quiet except for Kyle's occasional question or tip about party etiquette, such as don't throw up on the chicks, don't piss yourself . . .

The house was already full of people and the windows were literally vibrating from the loud music. I followed my brother inside, feeling a little claustrophobic as bodies pressed against me. A drink was thrust in my hand by an already tipsy Kenny. I never liked the taste of beer, but I didn't want to be called a sissy at school on Monday. I forced the foul liquid down my throat.

A sweaty hand grabbed mine and I was pulled into the living room. A smaller body grinded against me. Another cup replaced my empty one, then another and another. The person dancing with me, Bebe, kept slamming her hips against mine and shoving her barely-covered chest into my face. But even after several drinks I did not feel any attraction toward her; my suspicions were confirmed once again.

Bebe was oblivious to my predicament. She held my hand in a death grip and dragged me away from the dance floor.

"Where are you going, Greyson?" Stan appeared at my side, looking a hell of a lot better than some of the others. I vaguely remember him saying he was not gonna get smashed and promised to take us home.

"Grey-Grey wanted to have some alone time," Bebe answered for me.

I arch an eyebrow. That's not what I wanted. Besides, I can't even talk. What the hell is she playing at?

Stan must have seen my confused expression. "I don't think that is a good idea, Bebe."

"Well I think it'sh an excellent idea," she snapped and pulled me down the hall. "Stupid Stan," she griped, opening a nearby door and shoving me inside. "He has no right telling us what to do! What do you think?" She didn't let me answer. Instead she backed me up against the closest wall.

My thermal was gone before I could blink. Then a hot mouth was on mine, a booze-tasting tongue shoving its way into my mouth. I gagged at the taste of her saliva, but Bebe seemed to take it as an invitation because her sweaty hands were running up and down my chest. I prayed to the stars that is was too dark and she was too drunk to notice my scars.

Bebe released my mouth but began trailing her tongue down my chest, leaving a sticky trail in her wake. I heard her jeaned knees hit the floor. "Ready for a surprise?" she asked with a drunken giggle. My studded belt was unbuckled with practiced hands. I held my breath as she popped the button on my jeans then I felt the zipper being slowly undone.

"Whay are you soft?" Bebe asked, her hot breath wafting over my dick.

I froze when she lapped at the tip with her sticky tongue.

"You're dick is bigger than Token's!"

I regained control of my nerves at last. Shoving her away with one hand, I stuffed my dick back in my jeans and redid the zipper. Bebe let out an angry 'Hey!' when I pushed her, but I was already out of the closet by the time she was on her feet. I hurried away from the closet.

"God damn it, Cartman! Stop setting my couch on fire!"

A thick smoke washed over me. Fear mingled with the confusion and disgust that flooded my brain. Darting through the crowd of students and ignoring Stan's questioning shout, I ran outside. A flicker of orange invaded my vision. Memories of hungry flames flashed angrily through my mind. Within moments Token's house was out of sight. I only came to a stop when my scarred lungs screamed.

The cold night air gripped my exposed torso and arms with deadly claws. My thighs hurts from where my belt whipped them in my haste to escape. I quickly buttoned my jeans and fastened my belt. Fighting down the shivers that made my spine ache, I sat down on the front steps of the nearest building. The scare of the flames and the feel of Bebe's pressuring had forced me to sober up. Now I could fully feel the freezing temperatures. My body's growing numb, but I didn't want to move. By now Bebe would be furiously telling everyone how much of a fag I am for blowing off her advances. Stan and Kyle are probably frantic and looking around the property for me with the help of Kenny and Tweek.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Soft footfalls came from my left. I looked up into the dark blue, almost black eyes of the Goth with red highlights.

"You fuckin' conformists," he growled, readjusting his grip on the plastic bags in his hands.

I looked at my sneakers. Why did it have to be one of them who found me? I've already had a bad enough night with that blonde bitch trying to fuck me with her mouth. I really do not need a fuckin' Goth making me feel like a piece of scum.

"You were at that party." It wasn't a question. "I'm guessing someone stole your shirt."

I nodded. A shiver seized my body in an uncontrollable spasm.

The Goth was quiet for a few moments. I thought he had left until I heard a heavy sigh. "Come on." The bags were shuffled around then a pale hand appeared before me. When I hesitated he added, "Do you want to freeze?"

I took his hand and let him help me to my feet.

"Come one," he repeated, walking away. "My place is not far from here."

The guys had told me the Goths were an unreliable bunch. I don't know why this one is helping me but as long as it's not a sex-crazed blonde or a fat bastard, I'm grateful for the help. Even if he thinks I'm a conformist.


	5. Lair of the Goth

Soft arguing was what woke me from my dizzying dreams of darkness and fear. A soft blanket had been draped over my naked torso with apparent care because the edges were tucked under my body. I could not feel my jeans constricting my jeans, only loose, soft cotton pants.

“Why did you help the conformist?”

“He was freezing, Firkle.”

“You should have left this as sin the snow.”

“He’s not like the other conformists.”

I sat up and looked around, the blue blanket pooling in my lap like solid water. I was in some kind of bedroom / death chamber. The walls were painted dark grey and were covered in dark band posters and had flecks of what was either dark reddish-brown paint or dried blood here and there. Grey skull candles rested on a black dresser, which had several articles of clothing poking out and Goth-like stickers plastered on it. Thick volumes of Poe filled a low bookcase that sat opposite the bed. Everything screamed Goth. I bet the small closet next to the door was filled with nothing but outfits only a Goth would love.

“How do we know he’s not working for the Vamps?”

“He doesn’t look like a Vamp, let alone act like one.”

I tossed the blanket off me. A neatly folded shirt I had not notice earlier was beside me. I quickly put it on, feeling instant relief once my scars were covered. Sliding off the bed, I noticed the pajama pants were black with raven feathers outlined in white. If only my friends could see me now, they’d rave about how I had turned Goth . . .

“You have a crush on the guy, ass-munch?”

“No.”

My footsteps were muffled by the thick dark green carpet. I carefully opened the bedroom door and walked down the small hallway. A washer and dryer, obviously painted black with several patches of white where the paint smeared, were placed in a small opening opposite another door, which assumed was the bathroom. The hall opened into a little kitchen area. The floor was tiled and had more blood-like marks on it. Cabinets hung from the white ceiling and one door was open to reveal cans of dark coffee. Several dirty dishes were piled in the sink and semi-melted candles of various colors were on the counter near the stove, where several pans were resting.  
The doorway between the kitchen and whatever lay beyond had a beaded door that had a raven and a rose on it. It swayed gently as I slid through the beads.

Sitting at a table were the Goths from my art class. The guys looked as if they were in the middle of an argument, faces blushing faint red and eyes narrowed into glares, but the female was watching me with interest in her coffee brown eyes. All four had mugs of dark coffee in front of them and an ashtray full of spent cigarettes sat in the middle off the table. Several stains littered the table, and I got the assumption that it was blood from a fight or something worse.

“I see you’re awake.” The female glanced down at the shirt I was wearing – solid black with shite stripes on the sleeves. “I’m kind of glad Pete’s shirts fit you. You’re about the same size.”

I glanced at the guy-Goths. Which one was Pete?

“You have some cool scars on your back,” she continued. The guys turned their narrow gazes to me. “Burns. They’re not perfect, so either someone or something burned you without your consent, or you paid someone and they did a shitty job.”

I shook my head slowly.

“You have some sticky crap on you,” she said with a glare. “We cleaned you up. Pete didn’t want whatever it was on his sheets.” She readjusted one of her finger-less gloves with mild interest, as if she had done that for years.

The youngest Goth, the one with the purple lipstick, switched his narrowed chocolate gaze to the female. “Why are you explaining everything to him? He’s a fuckin’ poser, Henrietta.”

“He has the right to know,” the girl – Henrietta – snapped.

“Whatevs.” The curly-haired Goth took out a cigarette and a lighter from inside his coat.

My eyes widened at the flame that erupted from the silver lighter. I backed away until my back touched the beaded doorway. My vision blackened until all I could see was the small fire that flickered dangerously. My lungs would not take in air. The carpet rushed up to meet me.

Xoxoxoxoxo

I found myself on a soft leather couch, covered with another blanket, when I woke up. My brain pounded angrily against my skull but stopped after I took a couple deep breaths.

“Bullshit! You like the dude!”

“No, I don’t.”

“You are such a liar! We’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him for the past week.”

“I have not been looking at him, Michael.”

“Why does it matter anyways?”

“Because, Henrietta, we made a promise to each other long ago that we would never go soft on conformists.”

“We were ten years old.”

“Come on, guys. You’re gonna wake him up.”

“See? You do care!”

“Firkle, if you do not shut up, I’m going to cut you.”

I sat up and the Goths stopped talking. I could feel their eyes focused on me. I didn’t look at or even acknowledge them. I rose to my feet and walked back to the bedroom, trying my best to ignore the holes their eyes were burning into my back. When I got the room, and after a brief search, I replaced the pajama pants with my own jeans, tugged on my sneakers and stripped off Pete’s shirt. I folded the borrowed clothes neatly, leaving them on the bed. Looking around, I found a piece of paper and a pen on the bookshelf. I wrote “Thanks for everything” on it then left the room.

The Goths were still sitting at the table. The stench of a spent cigarette permeated the air, and I almost gagged. I had to leave before I collapsed again. After quickly figuring which Goth was which, I gave the note to my rescuer, Pete, the red and black haired Goth. I didn’t look back as I walked out the door.

I wrapped my arms around myself as the morning air scratched at me, trying to stay warm and to hide my scars from curious eyes, if anyone was even out this morning. But I crossed the small yard bravely, not really wanting to start the cold journey to Kyle’s house. I did not look back as the door to the trailer swung open and made a bang when it hit the outside wall.

“Hold on.”

I heaved a sigh. I’m not going to get away easily, am I? I stopped walking, reluctant curiosity flooding my mind. Footsteps approached me from behind then something heavy and warm was draped over my naked shoulders. I twisted around, the coat billowing around me like a cape, and stared at the Goth.

“I’m . . . uh . . . sorry about what my friends said,” he muttered in a low tone, rubbing his upper arm slowly. He was acting very un-Goth-like, and that kind of worried me. “I want the coat back.”

I nodded. A burst of self-confidence propelled me forward, and I pressed my mouth against his. The contact lasts for only a second, but I knew his lips were imprinted on my mind. How soft they were and how they pressed back ever so lightly as I drew away.

Pete’s eyes were a little wide when I stepped back. I slipped my arms into the sleeves of his jacket and zipped it. A musky but not unpleasant smell drifted around me. I forced another sigh before turning and walking away.


	6. Kisses in the Closet

To say Kyle was furious was highly understated, but I knew it was his way of showing me how worried he was. His angry voice did not wake up our parents or Ike, which surprised me. When I had appeared at the bedroom window he practically dragged me inside. His angry questions were endless. Then he noticed the coat and recognized that it as belonging to one of the Goths.

“Where the fuck were you?” He found a pad of paper and a pen on our shared desk and shoved them into my hands, then waited impatiently for me to write.

“’Not being raped.’” I turned the pad around so he could see my answer.

“By who?”

. . . “’Bebe. She tried to blow me in the closet at the party.’”

“Fuck.” Kyle plopped down on his bed, groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should have warned you about her.”

The lead nearly broke at how furiously I was writing. Kyle caught the pad of appear when I threw it at him. His brilliant green eyes scanned the paper as he read my answer. “’I didn’t want to stay at the party. I freaked when Cartman started a fire and left. I didn’t know where I was, but a Goth found me. I was at his house last night.’ You were with a Goth?”

I nodded, burrowing into Pete’s coat. The delicious scent that drifted off the fabric calmed my nerves.

“Must be where you got the jacket,” Kyle muttered to himself. “You seem to like it,” he added, setting down the pad. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as if in thought.

A soft heat crept up my neck to my cheeks. I know it’s stupid to like someone you’ve just met, whether officially or not. But crazier things have happened like the main character of “Twilight” falling in love with a sparkly vampire and in almost every Disney movie the characters fall for each other at first sight. I did not mean to kiss the Goth. I still don’t know what had come over me to make me do that. Maybe he’s thinking about the kiss too . . .

“You’re gay, aren’t you?”

My head shot up, almost cursing myself with dreaded whiplash. Kyle was looking at me with a knowing look in his green eyes. Did he just say what I though he said?

“I’ve noticed how you don’t look at the girls like the other guys do. And you blush whenever I talk about the Goths. I know something happened with the Goth, though I’m not sure what, and you do not have to tell me.”

I looked at my folded hands in my lap, letting my bangs cover my eyes. My new brother is more observant than I give him credit for. What else has he noticed?

“I don’t care if you’re gay, Greyson. There are a few gay guys in South Park, and you are who you are. Besides, you’re my brother.”

I flashed a grateful look at the ginger teen. A little bit of weight was lifted off my shoulders. Kyle knows my secret, and he was okay with it. If only everything else would go just as smooth.

I yawned and fell over on my side on the bed, curling up within the warmth of Pete’s coat. I inhaled deeply, and I heard Kyle laugh at my antics. I didn’t care though. I didn’t have to hide myself from my brother anymore.

Xoxoxoxoxo

The rest of the weekend passed without anything bad happening, which greatly surprised me. On Saturday when the guys came over to chill Cartman demanded to know why I wouldn’t let Bebe suck me off. Kyle and Stan saved my ass by telling him that I didn’t want my dick to reek of beer, which is half the truth. We spent most of the night playing videogames. Cartman left in a huff when I kicked his ass at “Mortal Kombat” five times, much to the amusement of the others. Kenny was particularly impressed then proceeded to whip my ass almost royally. On Sunday Kenny and I hung out with Tweek at the coffee shop while everyone else went to church. The two blonde were good friends, and they had me in silent tears with the stories of their younger years.

It’s now Monday and everything was okay for the most part. I handed in my homework, joined in a miniature food fight during lunch and received detention for the fight. What I did not expect was to have my arm snatched by a black blur and being forced into a   
janitor’s closet during the break between sixth and seventh period. The black blur turned out not to be Bebe, as I had feared. I was Pete, and he looked pissed off enough to kill someone. I silently asked the stars that my blood would not be spilled in this cramped closet.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” Pete’s dark eyes seemed to be shining in the darkness.

I shook my head frantically. Stars burst into my vision when two hands grabbed my upped arms and my head banged against the wall. I tried to release a small whimper but my vocal cords ached from the effort. I reached out and gripped his shoulders. The simple action made his grip lax a bit.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded.

I don’t know what the fuck I did to the Goth.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Understanding set in. Of course! If I had been randomly kissed by someone I barely know, I would freak out too. But I just shrugged and looked down.

“I . . . I can’t get it out of my head.” He voice was lowered to a whisper; I looked up into his dark, dark blue eyes. “Why did you do it? Tell me.”

Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t be able to fully explain myself. Pete opened his mouth again, but I cut him of by lightly pecking his lower lip. Moving away, I watched his expression go from desperation and angry to something I could not recognize. I didn’t have time to figure it out when I was shoved against the back wall, Pete’s mouth working furiously against mine.

I put all my being into kissing him back. Pete tilted his head a bit and pressed his tongue against my sealed lips. I released him with one hand and tangled my fingers in his silky hair. His tongue grew more insistent, lapping hungrily, begging to be let in to explore. I opened my mouth slightly and tasted his warm breath as he urged my tongue to dance with his. My muscle acted on its own, twinging with Pete’s slick tongue. I could feel his teeth gently nip the tip when he backed away.

His hands moved to my hips, thumbs hooking the seam of my jeans, brushing against the sensitive flesh. His mouth attacked mine again, but there was more of something gentler than lust in this kiss. I pushed my hips forward experimentally; Pete drew away for a moment to hiss before resuming his assault but thrust his hips against mine. A delicious shiver seized my spine, and I gasped into his mouth.

I backed out of the kiss, breathless, and rested my chin on his shoulder. I could feel him shudder slightly and his nose nuzzle my ear. We held each other even after we caught out breath.

“Greyson.” His voice was gentle, calming. “I-I don’t know how we can do this.” He placed a small sweet kiss on my neck. “I’m a Goth. I shouldn’t have these feeling for you.” He sighed and gave a shallow push of his hips; I kissed silently. “You’re supposed to be a conformist, but I know you’re not. Damn it!” He lifted his hands and wrapped his arms around my torso.

I leaned into his touch, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. He sighed heavily against my neck. I knew what he was going to say before he even spoke.

“We can’t do this. No one would understand, especially my friends. They don’t even know I’m gay.” He held me tighter as if I’d disappear if he let me go. “Fuck!” He pulled away just enough to stare into my eyes with his own dark blues. “What should we do?”

I frowned but gave him a small kiss; that seemed to cheer him up a little because a little smile played on his lips. I moved my hand from his hair to cup his cheek. His skin was soft under my thumb as I stroked his face. I leaned forward and playfully nuzzled his other cheek. His lips pressed against the corner of my mouth, and I turned my head a bit so he could kiss me.

“What should we do?” Pete asked against my lips.

I shrugged but kissed him again with a bit more force.

“Greyson,” he sighed.

Honestly I do not care if he is a Goth and I was supposed to be a normal person. Romeo and Juliet came from completely different backgrounds but managed to be in love. They may have died in the end but at least they had each other. Pete and I are two totally different people, but maybe we could make this work.

The warning bell for the seventh period rang; lockers slammed and the chatter of students died. I didn’t want to leave Pete. I wanted to stay in his arms, forever if possible, cliché as that sounds. Pete must have had the same thought because he gently tugged me down to the floor and helped me get situated between his legs, my back against his chest and his arms around me. I felt so safe in his embrace. Tiny jolts of pleasure shot down my spine every time he kissed my neck. The gestures were sweet and very un-Goth-like. His hands would occasionally slide under my black and blue striped shirt. I shivered every time his fingers brushed the edges of my scars. 

“We can do this,” Pete whispered in my ear after a few minutes of sitting in silence. “We just . . . We just won’t tell anyone.” He nuzzled the sensitive flesh beneath my ear. “I’m still a Goth, and still a conformist, at least to the others,” he added softly when I turned my head to look at him. He gave me a light kiss as if apologizing.

I returned the gesture then leaned back again. I could feel his heart beat through our shirts. It was fast and steady; a part of me was ecstatic that I was one doing that to him. Pete nuzzled into my hair, and I, for the first time in a long time, actually allowed a smile to appear.

If Pete is willing to let this relationship start, I would be tight there beside him.


	7. Being Apart

I hate this. I fuckin’ hate this.

I looked at Pete from across the crowded cafeteria. Even from my place beside Kyle I could see the anger and sorrow in his dark blue eyes. That longing we have developed whenever we are apart.

It’s been a week since our time in the janitor’s closet – I still blush when I think about it – and we have only been able to find time to be together one, and it was twenty minutes of kissing behind the school before his friends showed up. We could not risk being seen together. It kills me when I see or walk past him and not be able to do anything. I miss the feel of his soft lips moving against mine in a dance only we know, the shimmer in his eyes when he looks at me, and the warmth of his touch when he holds me.

Even worse, Bebe started a rumor about me. According to her, at Token’s party, I forced her into the closet and shoved my dick down her throat. She made a point to add that she was barely drunk and I was wasted off my ass; whoever believed those lies were a bunch of fuckin’ morons. For the past four days I’ve been the victim of hate notes and cold stares. Only Kyle, Stan and Kenny stood up for me because they alone knew the truth. Cartman thought it would be funny to add his own lies to the rumors. He quit when I slammed him into a locker and raised my fist at him between our fifth and sixth classes. Everyone saw him cower away from the angry mute, and now he is trying to defend me like a normal friend should do. I don’t think he’s doing it to help me, but because he’s scared I’ll whip his ass at something other than “Mortal Kombat.”

I shoved my tray away and laid my head on the table.

“You okay, dude?”

I shrugged. No, I’m pretty fuckin’ far from okay.

Kenny gently patted my back a few times then gave my hood a few yanks. He grinned when I straightened up to look at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know why Bebe started those rumors, dude, but I wouldn’t let them get to me if I were you. She’s just pissed ‘cause you blew her off.”

With a heavy sigh, I pushed my plate of mashed potatoes and chicken strips toward Cartman, who practically giggled at being given free food. I got up and walked out of the room, trying not to cower from the aggressive stares that focused on my retreating back. I went straight to my locker; I had to get my project for art class, the only class I share with Pete.

A neatly folded piece of notebook paper was wedged in between the grill slots at the top of my locker. Great . . . More hate mail. But I noticed there was something unusual about this note. It was not hastily folded or covered in words written in marker that bled through. Instead a miniature raven in flight had been drawn on one of the corners.

Pete.

I stashed the note up my sleeve. Quickly opening my locker and locating my project, I snatched it up then slammed my locker shut. I tried not to rush to the art room but the deep wanting to open Pete’s note almost granted me wings.

Xoxoxoxoxo

No one was in the classroom when I walked in. The rather ugly clock above the teacher’s desk read twelve-thirty – lunch would not be out for another ten minutes. Grabbing some colored pencils from their bin as I passed, I walked around the table until I found my usual seat. I plopped down and set my art supplies on the table. The corners of the note scarped against my skin, against my scars as I tugged it out of my sleeve. I carefully unfolded it and read its contents with pure greed. 

‘Grey, can you come over around 7? The others won’t be there so we’ll be alone. Try to make it, okay? – P’

A small blush crept up my face at the thought of having a nickname. No one had ever called my ‘Grey’ before, or any nickname that was not discriminating. I looked at his handwriting. It was casual, not too choppy or too formal. I guess I was trying to memorize it, picturing the way he moved his hand as he wrote his message.

The door to the art room opened.

I hastily crumpled the note and shove it back up my sleeve, and picked up a colored pencil. Ignoring the footsteps that echoed throughout the silent room, I started putting the finishing touches on my drawing. I froze completely when a hand shuffled though my reddish-brown hair. A semi-familiar scent – dark roast coffee and stale cigarette smoke – wreathed around me, and a low voice whispered dangerously close to my ear, “I see you got my note. The conformist Britney wannabes didn’t find it.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, leaning my head back against his torso.

Pete looked down at me with soft blue eyes. “Can you come?” There was a hint of quiet desperation in his low voice.

I nodded, drowning in his delicious scent. I reached back and slid my hand under his black shirt. The skin I found was warm and soft, and when I caressed it with my fingertips, Pete’s breath hitched a bit. I’ve never felt such perfection.

Pete leaned down and hugged me as tight as he could without snapping the back of my chair. I tilted my face toward his and brushed our lips in a gentle kiss. He sighed against my mouth, gave me one last squeeze then released me.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Footsteps and loud voices could be heard beyond the closed door.

Our time was over.

I turned in my seat to look at him, savoring the taste of dark coffee. Pete had such a look of misery on his face I almost started to tear up.

I have to wait until tonight to see him again. Already he was walking away, flicking his long bangs out of his face. There was anger in the simple movement.

Students filed into the room only seconds after Pete sat down at his table. Kyle and Cartman were in a heated argument about Judaism when they walked in; Stan, Kenny and Tweek followed, looking as if they wanted to kill my brother and the fat-ass. I lowered my gaze to my drawing when Pete’s friends walked in; I didn’t even look up when Kenny and Tweek sat down on either side of me. I knew if I did look up I’d look over at Pete, and I didn’t want to give away out secret or see the pain in his beautiful dark blue eyes. I knew my greys mirrored his sorrow.

“What the fuck are you drawing?”

Cartman’s meaty hand grabbed a corner of my picture and snatched it away before I could stop him.

“What . . . the hell?”

I glared at Cartman. How dare he?!

“Dude, if you turn into a fuckin’ Goth, you are sooooo not our friend anymore.” He practically shoved my picture under Kyle’s nose. “Look, Jew! Your brother’s a fuckin’ Goth!”

“It’s just a picture.” I could feel Kyle’s emerald eyes rest on me for a moment. “Give his picture back. It’s his project.”

Cartman scowled but gave me the picture. It was a little crinkled but I smoothed it out with several swipes. I had drawn a raven in flight surrounded by falling feathers that were bleeding; Pete’s beaded curtain and pajama pants were my inspiration.

“He couldn’t be a Goth even if the word was tattooed on his forehead,” said the curly-haired Goth, Michael, from across the room. His voice proved how bored he was of sitting there even after just two minutes.

“Fucking conformists,” Pete added din a soft tone.

Firkle grumbled his opinion, but I could feel Henrietta looking at me with interest.

I ignored her, forcing down my depression.

“Don’t listen to them, Greyson,” Kenny muttered from beside me. “They’re just pissy ‘cause they can’t feel emotion.”

Even if I could speak, I couldn’t tell my friend that he was wrong. Goths are perfectly capable of showing and feeling emotions. Pete was a Goth, and I have felt nothing but content and strong liking when we are together. And I’ve felt his agony when we cannot be close to each other. Is this how Romeo and Juliet felt? If Shakespeare was alive, I’d ask him. But for now I have to be content with waiting for seven o’clock to arrive.


	8. The Goth's Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lime in this chapter.

“Are you okay, Greyson? You’re not eating.”

Sheila’s concern was touching but not needed. I swirled my mashed potatoes and peas around with my fork then forced myself to take a bite. Pete’s look of despair was seared into my memory. It flashed across my vision every few moments, making my heart drop and my appetite die.

I didn’t need Sheila to get suspicious of my moods. I quickly finished my supper, even though every mouthful tasted like ash. I pushed my empty plate away and looked at Sheila expectantly.

“I see you got your appetite back,” she observed with a smile. “You may be excused.”

I flashed her a smile before getting up, walking out of the kitchen and practically bounding up the stairs. I grabbed my wallet from under my pillow and stuffed it in the back pocket of my jeans. Next I slipped on my sneakers. Then I grabbed my jacket and Pete’s coat. I bounced back down the stairs.

Gerald was sitting on the couch looking through papers on the coffee table – probably lawyer stuff. He looked up when I approached him and gave my jacket a small shake.

“You heading out, Greyson?”

I cocked my head to the side as if to ask “Am I allowed to go out?”

“Alright. Go have fun.” He smiled at me, and I returned it with a small one. “I know it’s Friday, but since Sheila and I have to run errands in the morning we’re locking the door at eleven. If you come home later than that, you may have call Kyle.”

I nodded din understanding, shrugging on my jacket. I draped Pete’s coat over my arm and tried to hide the bounce in my step as I left the house.

Xoxoxoxoxo

My heart began to beat wildly when Pete’s trailer came into view. His black car was in the tiny driveway, so I knew he was home. I could hear some kind of metal music as I stepped up onto the small wooden porch. Steeling my nerves, I knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

The door creaked a bit when I opened it. Vanilla wreathed around me as I stepped inside, closed the door and removed my sneakers. A pair of arms covered in black sleeves encircled my waist while I Was still bent over. I straightened up – Pete’s coat falling to the floor – and a hand reached up to unzip my jacket. The other hand tugged my jacket off and tossed it onto a chair. Then the hands grabbed my shoulder and spun me around; I got to look into beautiful blue eyes for a second before a warm mouth attacked mine.

Euphoria exploded in my mind.

I nipped playfully at Pete’s lower lip; he growled and shoved his tongue past my lips. He tasted like dark roast coffee, and I savored it like an addict. The hands gripped my hips and pushed me backwards until my back was pressed against the door. I gasped at the slight sting as the back of my head hit the wood, but it was quickly forgotten as Pete tangled our tongues together. I wrapped my arms around his upper torso and clutched his shirt, holding him close.

Pete tightened his grip on my hips – I may have bruises tomorrow – and pressed against me. Something had grown hard in the front of his dark jeans. I felt all the blood drain from my face and travel to my groin. This feeling was something completely new to me, but I liked it. I could feel my dick tighten and lengthen, pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. Pete slammed our hips together again. The sensation grew stronger, my dick harder, my breathing faster.

A delicious shiver gripped my spine as Pete’s lips left mine to start trailing kisses down my neck. I jumped slightly when he released my hip and cupped my growing erection. I pressed against his hand, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his hands on me. I lowered one of my own hands and slid it under his shirt. A shiver shook his body as I dug my blunt nails into his back. Pete groaned against my throat then bit down on sensitive flesh with sharp teeth.

I was not aware he had unbuttoned my jean until my zipper was yanked down. My semi-hard dick spilled out of my boxer and opened fly. Pete didn’t hesitate to curl his long fingers around my hardening flesh; I would have moaned loudly if I could. My knees almost gave out as he began to stroke me. Pete’s other hand made quick work of unfastening his own jeans, and I looked down just as his full erection appeared. Pete was bigger than me, but was generally the same with a pale shaft and a pink mushroom-like head.

“Do you trust me?”

I looked into his dark blue eyes, lust and strong liking swimming there. I do trust him but . . . what if he had a disease or something? I nodded anyway, but Pete must have seen my hesitation.

“I’m clean, Grey,” he whispered. “I promise.” He leaned forward and kissed me gently, just a feathery tough. “I’ll prove it to you later.”  
Pete opened his hand he had wrapped around me.

What is he – Oh stars!

Hot, tight flesh touched mine as Pete held our dicks together. A small bead of precum leaked out of our tips. I bit down on Pete’s smooth neck, unnecessarily stifling my silent moans, as he slowly slid his warm hand up and down. The way his bigger cock rubbed me . . . there were no words. Breath-taking and erotic, I guess. I’ve never experienced something like this before. Pete seemed to pick up on this because he was no rough or demanding. He was gently with his movements, and I shuddered every time our tips touched.  


My breathing got shallower as he increased the speed of his stroking. Pete breathed heavily in my ear, which only added to the erotic sensations. A pooling sensation became apparent in lower abdomen and I could feel my balls tighten, almost painfully. It felt as if my being was a string being pulled tight until it snapped. Stars exploded in my mind as hot liquid rushed up my disk and flew from the angry pink tip. I felt like I was pissing but this was way more satisfying. I bit down harder, thrusting my hips forward, praying Pete would keep touching me. My dick was hypersensitive, and I could feel his hot semen erupt out of his raging member. Some of the liquid landed on my slowly deflating cock; shivers of pure pleasure gripped my spine.

“Did you feel how hard I was?” Pete’s voice was husky, and I guess mine would be too if I could talk.

I slowly released his flesh from my toothy grip.

“That’s what you do to me, Grey. And only you.”

A small flare of joy popped into my mind. I’m the only one who could make he feel like this?

Pete released his spent member then carefully tucked mine back into my boxers. I didn’t resist when he tugged my cum-splattered shirt over my head; he had already seen my scars so why hide them from him? “I’ll wash this for you,” he said. “Help yourself to some coffee. The cups are in the strainer.” He gave me a swift kiss before walking away, taking his own shirt off as we went through the beaded curtain.

I followed him into the kitchen and picked up two mugs out of the dish strainer by the sink. The coffee pot was nearby and I filled the  
mugs as the washing machine was started.

“Are you ready for round two?” Pete asked playfully when he returned, a folder in hand.

A heavy blush burned my face. I quickly re-did my jeans then handed him a mug. Pete smiled his thanks and led the way back to the living room. He handed me the folder. “I’ll be right back,” he said, reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the table. “You have pyrophobia, and I don’t think I can handle a repeat of last time.” He slid on his coat. “Go ahead and read the papers.”

I sat on the couch, setting my coffee on the small coffee table. Opening the folder, I found a packet of papers. The top of the first page said they were from the Park County Clinic, addressed to Peter Olen. I scanned the pages and realized they were test results for HIV, AIDs, syphilis, gonorrhea . . . All were negative. Then I saw the date. Pete had gotten all these tests done the day after our escapade in the closet.

Pete returned as I was putting the papers back in the folder. I looked up at him and cocked my head to the side.

“I guess I want to reassure you that I’m clean,” he explained, taking off his coat. “I didn’t know if you would believe me or not.”

I nodded. Now that I saw the proof that he was clean I was willing to be in a normal relationship with him.

“And I didn’t mean to jump you like that,” he added, sitting beside me and setting his half-empty mug on the table. “I’ve been so fuckin’ frustrated lately. I couldn’t touch you for a week . . . and I don’t know what happened.”

I twisted toward the beautiful Goth and reached up to gently cup his cheek. Dark pools of blue shimmered with mixed emotions but closed when I kissed him. This was not a lustful kiss like earlier. It was gentle and my way of confirming that I believed him. I want to be with him. I want to be his . . . boyfriend.

Pete backed away then playfully nuzzled my nose, a sweet smile on his face. “Grey,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to mine.  
This time I was the one who asked for entrance by gently licking his lower lip. Pete allowed me in with no hesitation and waited patiently for my tongue to ask his to dance. He tasted sweet though a hint of cigarette smoke lingered; I ignored it.

Our kiss never lost its innocence, not leading to lustful movements. Pete was gentle with me. I guess he was making up for his attacking me when I walked in. I accepted his apology, nibbling on the tip of his tongue. We sighed in unison, content in each other’s arms.


	9. Where is home?

It was well past midnight when I finally got home – or to the house, I guess, because home is where Pete is. Sheila and Gerald were probably in bed since it was past eleven, and I don’t have a cell phone of my own to call Kyle. That’s why I’m climbing the tall oak tree beside the house; its branches stretched toward the bedroom window.

The light was on in the bedroom.

Shit.

When I reached the window I peered in to see Kyle, Stan, Kenny and Cartman sitting in a semi-circle in their pajamas playing a fighting game on the system. They jumped comically when I tapped my knuckles on the glass. I waited patiently for Stan to open the window,   
then crawled into the warm room.

“Where have you been?” Kyle demanded, putting his character on pause so he could look at me.

I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it to the end of my bed. Kyle seemed to ask that a lot . . . I guess he does care about me. But I decided to ignore his question and proceeded to clean of unruly hair of leaves.

“Dude, you smell like a fuckin’ coffee whore,” Cartman grumbled before letting loose a loud rip, giggling about it then returning to the game.

I wrinkled my nose at the foul stench and buried my nose in my elbow. The fabric of my shirt smelled of Pete’s laundry detergent, vanilla mist or something like that. It had a calming effect; my muscles instantly uncoiled, allowing me to almost fully relax.

“What the hell is that?”

“Greyson go lu-u-u-ucky!”

Oh shit!

I cupped my neck and looked away. I forgot Pete left a mark when he had tossed me into pure ecstasy. We didn’t go any further than Pete stroking us in unison to sweet completion. I blushed at the thought of doing that again . . . We agreed our relationship would not be based completely on sexual mannerisms, and I was not fully ready to go all the way yet. Pete had acknowledged my wanting to wait with calm acceptance.

“Where the hell were you, Greyson Talon-Broflovski?” Kyle’s green eyes were twin flames as they darted from my face to the covered mark on my neck then back.

I looked at my brother and just barely mouthed ‘Goth.’

“Tweek must have stayed open late,” said Stan. I guess he saw me mouth to Kyle. “You were at the coffee shop, weren’t you?”

I nodded, feeling instant relief. But that quickly changed to fear as Kyle mouthed ‘This isn’t over.’

Grabbing my black pajama pants, blue tank top and the small pile of leaves, I left the room to change in the bathroom. I may be okay changing in front of Pete, but not these guys.

Xoxoxoxoxo

The guys were lying on the floor in a circle with the light off when I returned. Cartman had a flashlight under his double chin and was talking in what was supposed to be a creepy voice. I stepped over Kenny’s long legs and hopped onto my bed.

“ . . . The lights would not turn on and there was no sound. But when he opened the friends . . . the box of Snacky Cakes were gone!” Cartman let out a low scream, which was silence by the pillow Kyle threw at him. “Mufkin Jawh!”

I slid under the covers, once more stashing my wallet under my pillow. It’s only been over an hour and a half but I could feel my heart demanding me to return to Pete. I don’t know if he feels the same though.

“Do you have a story, Greyson?” asked Cartman in am mocking voice. “Oh, wait, I forgot. Sorry.”

I turned my back on the annoying fat-ass.

“Come on, Greyson! You have to have a story!”

I grabbed a fistful of blanket and yanked them over my head.

“Damn it, fat-ass. Leave my brother alone.”

Letting the soft darkness of my comforter envelop my, I ignored the others and thought about my somewhat one-sided conversation with Pete. I had learned all of his favorites: author – Edgar Alan Poe; food – spaghetti; season – fall; color – red; animal – raven; drink – dark roast coffee; plant -0 nightshade . . . Pete also told me his parents had disowned him for not growing out of being Goth and had been living in his trailer since he was sixteen. His aunt – who is also a Goth – has been taking care of his bills, but they made an agreement that he would get a job after high school. Pete will be graduating in two and a half weeks. Then he’ll be working, going to college, and forgetting about me.

I felt a couple tears slide down my face. I just found someone who doesn’t treat me like complete shit, who actually wants to be with me, and he’s going to leave me. I sniffled quietly, willing the tears away.

I think I startled the guys when I threw my covers off. I ignored their looks of concern and irritation as I stepped around them and left the room.

Ike wasn’t in the living room watching reruns when stepped off the bottom step. I crossed the room and sat down on the couch. Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs.

Pete won’t want me around once he graduates. He’ll probably meet a Goth in college and forget all about me. I’ll just be a distraction to him.

But I . . . love him.

Xoxoxoxoxo

A gentle hand shaking my shoulder woke me. I opened my eyes to see Sheila’s broad face. I must have passed out on the couch. A quilt had been draped over my curled body.

“We’re heading out, Greyson.” Her green eyes were soft. “There’s a bottle of concealer in the bathroom,” she said in a low voice. “You can cover that mark before you go out.” I raised a hand to hide the love-bite as she continued, “I don’t know who gave you that mark, but if it becomes serious, make sure he loves you.”

I nodded, relieved Sheila was still okay with my being gay. I waited until Sheila, Gerald and Ike left before tossing the quilt off and getting to my feet. I raised my arms above my head in a stretch, my tank top riding up. My back let out a few satisfying pops.

“Greyson, where did you get the hickey?”

Damn it.

My arms dropped like deadweights, and I turned to face my brother. His arms were crossed over the front of his orange shirt, and green eye blazed with suspicion. Stan and Kenny appeared behind him, still slightly tired but alert, and I knew I was screwed. I returned to my spot on the couch, a shiver of fear seizing my spine as the other sat down on either side of me, except for Kenny, who took up a position on the sturdy coffee table before me.

“We just want to know what’s going on,” said Stan.

I couldn’t meet their eyes.

“Which Goth is it?” asked Kyle; Stan and Kenny gasped quietly and exchanged a look of surprise. “Michael or Pete?”

Heaving a quiet sigh, I twitched my head as if flicking my bangs out of my face just as I had seen Pete do multiple times.

“Pete?”

I nodded.

“You were with him last night.” Kyle’s voice was calmer now that he knew where I was last night. “He gave you the hickey.”

I nodded again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Kenny rested his hands on my thighs and stared into my grey orbs. “You’re . . . gay?”

I mouthed a ‘Yeah.’

“Cool!” Kenny’s serious face was split by a giant grin. “Now you can tell me everything about having sex with another guy!”

“Really, Kenny?”

A deep blush heated my face. I pointed to myself, shaking my head frantically. I’m a virgin and even if I did have sex with Pete, I wasn’t going to give details. A vivid image of Pete’s flushed face and his dick touching mine flashed through my mind. My blush burned angrily, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Please get your mind out of the gutter,” Stan grumbled, leaning forward to grab the remote. He sighed and looked at me with dark blue   
eyes, ten shade lighter than Pete’s eyes. “Does he like you back?”

I nodded a third time to confirm that he did. Pete does like me; he told me so before I left his trailer. He almost sounded like he was feeling regret because he wanted say something else. I knew he wanted to tell me he loved me . . .

“What the hell are you guys doing?”

Stan sighed heavily. Kyle rolled his eyes. Kenny raised his middle finger at Cartman.

“Fine! Ignore me!”

We will. No problem there.

I hopped up from the couch and went to the kitchen. Sheila got pop-tarts, and I had called first dibs.


	10. Frisky Business

A silent moan escaped my parted lips. I gripped silky red and black strands of hair. Hot lips attacked my neck with the fury of a starved wolf. Sharp teeth bit down; a non-existent howl of pleasure burned my throat. Pete bit harder on my sensitive spot near my collar bone. I thrusted my hips against his, seeking that delicious friction. His muffled moan echoed briefly off the walls. My hardened flesh pressed painfully against my dark jeans; I wanted Pete to touch me. He backed away from my neck, and blue-black eyes shone with lust and that other something.

He moved faster than I could acknowledge, making quick work of unfastening my jeans. A heavy blush raced up my neck as Pete gently pushed my jeans down. My erection erupted out of the opening in my boxers. Pete didn't hesitate, coiling his long fingers around my hot flesh. I threw my head back, mouth falling open with a silent moan, leaving my neck open for further assault. Sharp teeth fastened into my tender flesh. I thrusted into his hand as Pete sucked on my neck. Hard.

I slid my hands under his black shirt and dug my blunt nails into his firm shoulders. Pete gave a final suck then slowly lowered himself to his knees; I listened as his jeans brushed the ground. Anticipation made me sweat a bit, but apparently not enough to discourage Pete. A vision of a horny blonde invaded my thoughts as warm, moist breath hit my hard cock. I slammed my eyes shut, forcing the image to the back of my mind. I tried to focus on Pete and the way he-

Oh shit!

The tip of my engorged dick was encased in a very hot and very wet cavern. Soft lips encircled the shaft just beyond the head and that tongue lapped eagerly at the slit. I sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. Pete smiled around my throbbing erection - I could feel it - then slowly began to take in more, inch by inch. I knew he would not be able to fit all of me in his mouth; I'm average, a little over six inches when erect, not like the guys you read about on the internet. I think it would be rather uncomfortable having an eight inch dick, let alone a ten inch one.

Pete playfully scraped his teeth along the length of my dick before latching back on. He carefully tightened his fingers around the base. His other hand lightly gripped my left cheek, keeping me in place as he bobbed his head. I reached down and buried my fingers in his black and red hair, tugging at it as a means of anchoring myself to reality, to this moment. A deep vibration raced down the length of my member and up my spine. Pete had moaned when I pulled his hair, sending delicious pricks of ecstasy throughout my body until my skin seemed to be crawling. I shivered as his tongue dragged up the underside then encircled the tip once...twice... I would have slammed my hips into his face if he did not have a hold of me. My balls tightened as if encased in an iron grip. My knees almost gave out as my cum shot down Pete's throat. Blood pounded in my ears and my grip on Pete's hair grew savage. Pete swallowed loudly; I knew he did that on purpose. I gulped air, trying desperately to catch my breath.

My jeans dragged against my thighs when Pete gently pulled them up after carefully tucking my spent member into my boxers. I released my death grip, and he zipped the zipper and fastened the button before standing up. I forced my eyelids apart and stared into his dark, dark eyes. A sly smirk played at the corners of his mouth. He leaned towards me, and I could taste my essence on his tongue when he kissed me. It was salty and musky but altogether not unpleasant. 

I bet Pete tasted better.

I licked my lips as I took a step back. Pete watched the motion with sparkling eyes. Our breath mingled as we stood there staring at each other. His dark blue eyes boring into my light greys. His warm hands held my hips, keeping me close. I raised a hand and gently cupped his face, stroking his cheekbone with my thumb. His skin was soft, still covered in peach fuzz. Carefully I guided his head forward to kiss him. Pete sighed into my mouth, filling my lungs with his sweet breath.

It was just us in our world.

The Goth and the Mute.

Pete's watch beeping broke out magical moment. He had set an alarm when we first yanked each other into the janitor's closet. The soft alarm meant school was about to be let out, and we would have to go our separate ways.

"Grey..." Pete sighed and pecked my on the nose then released me. "This sucks - stealing time in a damn closet. And my friends can't see us together." He touched a button on his watch; I nodded in understanding, and Pete groaned in anguish. "I'm a terrible boyfriend."

I shook my head at him. I know he had to keep up his image, even if it does break my heart when he has to act cold and uncaring toward me. Did Romeo have to pretend to hate Juliet to keep their love alive?

"You don't think I'm terrible?"

'No,' I mouthed with a small smile.

Pete sighed and lifted a hand to shuffle it through his hair. "I don't believe that."

I huffed, then snatched up my pencil and notebook I had set on a nearby shelf when we had entered the closet. Flipping through the pages until I found a clean sheet, I hastily wrote what had flashed through my mind. I handed the notebook to my bewildered boyfriend when I finished.

"'Tomorrow we don't have school.' I know that." He looked up at me; I frowned and tapped the book impatiently with my forefinger. Pete rolled his dark eyes but continued, "'Kyle and the guys will be at Stan's house, and my parents and little bro will be going to a movie out of town and staying with a family friend. Come over around six? We'll be alone.'" A small smirk played around his mouth as he raised his eyes from the paper. "Just us?"

I nodded.

"Okay. I'll be there." His smirk grew into a smile. "I'll tell my friends I'm visiting my aunt and it's a personal visit."

I leaned forward to muzzle his nose softly. Pete may be a Goth, but he is my Goth.

Xoxoxoxoxo

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Kyle looked up from stuffing clothes in his backpack, green eyes burning with two emotions: curiosity about why I didn't want to go and regret because he was leaving me alone. "You can come with us."

I shook my head. I'm not planning on going anywhere, except my bed if Pete shows up. A small blush warmed my cheeks. I willed it down so Kyle would not accuse me of having dirty thoughts.

"Are you sure."

I nodded.

Kyle seemed to take the hint. He went back to packing his bag, leaving me alone to decide whether I should rent a movie or watch the one I bought last week. I don't know if Pete would like it or not. Maybe he'd watch it without thinking it was a cliché romance.

I glanced at the analog alarm clock. Angry green numbers glared back; it's five twenty. Pete is scheduled to arrive in forty minutes, which means Kyle needs to hurry his ass up. Sheila, Gerald and Ike had already left around a half an hour ago; Kyle's been packing since the family walked out the door. I don't know what the hell he needed to pack besides clothes and toiletries.

"There. All packed."

Finally!

"You're totally sure you don't want to come?"

I heaved an exasperated sigh and nodded. Of course, I'll be okay.

A horn honked. 

I thought it was the greatest sound ever.

I followed Kyle down the stairs, trying to contain my excitement. I flopped down on the couch and watched Kyle struggle to put on his shoes as the horn outside honked with vigor. I bet it's Cartman who's doing it.

"I'm coming, damn it!" Then with a wave, a smile and a 'See you later,' Kyle walked out the door, leaving me alone.

As soon as the lock clicked I sprang into action.


	11. Home Alone with a Goth

The clock read five fifty-seven when I finally finished setting everything up. Two mugs of hot dark roast coffee sat on coasters on the coffee table, steaming enticingly. Battery-powered, but realistic looking, candles flickered from their spots on the end tables. The movie I bought last week was already in the DVD player, ready to be watched. And a black fleece blanket was draped over the couch. I hope I didn't overdo it; Pete would wonder why I put so much into a simple evening together.

I swiped at the small beads of sweat on my forehead then wiped my hand on my dark jeans. My nerves were starting to fray; I know it's foolish to be this... I don't know... nervous, excited about this evening. This will be different than our tie spent in the janitor's closet or at Pete's trailer. This time we're going to be on my turf, in my house, where my brother and his friends could walk in at any time and witness my relationship with my Goth. Kyle, Stan and Kenny would probably roll their eyes and tell us to quit, but Cartman would make a hell of a scene. Knowing him, my relationship with Pete would be announced during the school announcements.

My heart leaped into my throat when someone rapped on the door. A shiver raced down my spine, but I forced aside my nervousness and hopped to my feet. The short distance to the door seemed to yawn before me like some kind of desert. It seemed like a year had passed when I finally reached the door. I unlocked it, expecting to see Pete flicking his cigarette away; instead I got an armful of darkness as Pete fell into the house and into my arms.

We fell in a tangle of limbs onto the floor. The breath left my chest with a whoosh! as Pete landed on me. Red and black hair fell across   
my face like bi-colored shadows.

"Oh shit!"

Pete scrambled off of me, accidently elbowing my in the gut. I grunted silently at the slight pain, but accepted the pale hand Pete extended toward me when he got to his knees.

"You okay, Grey?"

I nodded, allowing Pete to help me to my feet. When we were at our full heights I slid my arms around his waist and hugged him close, breathing in his beautiful scent. I could get drunk off his scent. Soft lips caressed my neck and trailed light nibbles down to my collar bone, to the spot that makes my knees weak. I clung to him; Pete's warm breath fanned across my skin, sending delicious jolts through my body.

"Thanks for letting me come over," he whispered against my flesh. "Are you sure no one will show up?"

I stepped away, lowering my grip to his slim hips, and looked up into his dark blue eyes. 'I'm sure,' I mouthed. I released his body and walked to the couch. The mugs were still billowing steam, too hot to drink, but I patted the spot next to me with a small smile on my face.

Pete returned the smile and kicked off his shoes before joining me. He nuzzled my ear, making my breathing increase, then playfully nibbled on my earlobe. I breathed a laugh, swiping at him. "This is a nice set-up," he commented, backing away to look at what I had done. "You get bonus points if you got the right coffee." There was a teasing tone in his soft voice. He reached out, dipped his pinkie carefully in the coffee then lightly sucked the sample off his finger. I watched him with wide eyes, knowing he was turning me on as he relished the taste of the coffee and licked the tip of his finger. Images of our earlier escapade in the closet flashed before my eyes. A burning sensation crept up my neck.

The smirk on Pete's face told me he knew what I was thinking about. "Penny for your thoughts?"

How about a hundred pennies?

I narrowed my eyes at him and grabbed the remote that sat innocently by my mug. I turned on the television and the DVD player.

"A movie?"

I nodded, clicking play on the remote. I had the movie set up about twenty minutes ago so I could surprise Pete with my choice. I hope he likes it.

". . . People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul   
back to put the wrong things right."

I glanced at Pete to see what he would think of my choice, and was surprised to see him getting comfortable. He popped his feet on the coffee table and stretched out his arm as an invitation. I took it, snuggling up against him as the movie started. His scent wreathed around me, comforting and loving. His arm curled around my shoulders, holding me to him.

"This is a beautiful movie," he whispered in my ear.

A small smile flickered at the corner of my mouth. I didn't know if he would like it or not; I'm glad I made a good choice.

Xoxoxoxoxo

"'Stop me if you heard this one: Jesus Christ walks into a hotel. Ow! He hands the innkeeper three nails, and he asks 'Can you put me up for the night?'"

Pete whispered the words in my ear, quoting the movie as if he had seen it a dozen times. If I had known he had seen this movie before I would have chosen a different one, but he seemed to be enjoying it.

Or enjoying the feel of my skin.

For the past five minutes his hand has been creeping under my shirt and up my stomach. I sucked in a silent breath as his forefinger slowly flicked over my nipple.

That was new.

A different feeling cause the skin of my chest to crawl like I was being shocked with low voltage electricity. I felt the tip of the bud press against the fabric of my shirt as it started to grow hard. It was like my dick. If it's touch, it grows erect. I never experienced this feeling before; I never explored my nipples or the weird vibrations they gave off as Pete touched one of them.

He turned his head to press a kiss into my hair as he pinched my nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger. I almost jumped off the couch from the jolts of pleasure that shifted down my spine.

"You like that?"

I inhaled through gritted teeth but nodded slightly. I did like it.

His entire body twisted around until he was facing me. Pete cupped my chin with his free hand and leaned forward to kiss me. He was trying to distract me. I could feel the light pinches and twists he was giving my hard-as-hell nipple. I breathed a moan against his open mouth, mingling our breath, and gripped his shirt with both hands.

Our tongues tangled in an exotic dance. He tasted of dark roast coffee, just like every time that we've kissed. I was getting addicted; Pete knew that, proving it as he nipped at the tip of my tongue. His hands left my bud - I would have groaned in frustration if I could - and lowered down to the hem of my shirt. He gave a few persistent tugs before I got the message. I didn't hesitate, releasing his hair and mouth to grip opposite sides of my shirt. I tugged the cloth over my head and threw it down on the floor. The air around us was cooler than the inside of my shirt; goose bumps raised on my exposed arms.

Pete examined my pale skin and scars with soft, half-lidded eyes. Under any other person's gaze I would have collapse in on myself, try to make myself as small as possible. But with Pete I just sat there and allowed him to look at me. He knew I was giving him all my trust; even that day in his trailer I never let him get a good look at my body, using my arms to shield myself.

Now Pete was getting the full view.

He looked up at me then back down to my chest. Then he moved, slowly, then pressed his soft lips against my chest, about two inches above my left nipple. Right on one of my scars. I couldn't feel it; there were not nerves in the scar tissue. I only knew the way his lips felt from when he kissed me. But then he kissed me an inch higher, and I sighed at the feeling. Those petal-soft lips caressed my scarred skin gently, only in the way a lover could.

"You're beautiful," Pete murmured against my chest. He backed away and looked into my eyes with those dark blue orbs of his. In one motion, he yanked off his own shirt and tossed it to join mine on the floor. His chest was perfect. No almost healed bruises, no scars marring the smooth surface. I felt a flash of jealousy but it was gone in a flash. I wasn't going to ruin our evening with a petty jealousy; it wouldn't be fair to Pete.

"Come here."

His warm hands were at my hips before I could blink. With a little help, I managed to shift and press me chest against his. The scattered feeling of his chest on mine was breath-taking. I fell in love with the sensations. Pete's blunt nails dragged gently down my scarred back; I could only feel them when they touched skin that was numb.

Something came over me as he continued to touch my skin. I lunged forward and captured his mouth with mine. He let out a very un-Goth-like squeak of surprise as my tongue forced its way into his mouth. But he didn't fight. If anything he returned my gesture with full force. He returned his hands to my hips and, somehow, lifted me onto his lap. My eyes widened at his sudden strength, but I didn't give up the fight that was going on in our mouths.

Pete groaned when I landed on his lap then physically thrusted my hips against his. I sighed against his mouth, feeling his clothed erection brush against my groin. A pleasing jolt caused my breath to hitch, and my dick started to grow hard in jeans. I should be used to this feeling, but clearly I'm not. Pete ground my hips down on his, forcing our covered erections to rub against each other, creating a friction I knew we both loved.

My hands death-gripped his bi-colored hair. Pete growled, literally growled, in my mouth and flicked both of my nipples with his thumbs. I broke away from the kiss and silently moaned. Pete took advantage of the moment, closing his hot mouth down on my right bud, circling the sensitive flesh with that damn tongue of his. I ground down on him with vigor, before finally releasing with grip on his hair and unfastening our jeans. The tips of our dicks struck each other painfully, but we didn't care. I coiled my fingers around our hard members and started stroking. Pete moaned, sending vibrations throughout my chest; I flicked my thumb over the slit of Pete's cock, precum sticking to my skin. Releasing us for a second, I raised my hand to my mouth and sucked the juice off my thumb.

He tasted sweeter than me.

I returned my hand to our cocks.

Pete released his grip on my hard nipple then proceeded to repeat his actions on my other one. I lowered my head and carefully bit his neck, sinking my teeth into his skin. I sucked hard and fast, knowing fully well that I would be leaving a mark; when my mouth detached from his neck, a dark love-bite was left behind. I smirked at my handiwork but my eyes slammed shut and my neck fell back as Pete's tongue flicked my nipple with just the lightest touch then bit down. He knew I had given him a hickey, and was getting revenge.

I felt a tightening in my groin, and Pete released my chest to let out a loud moan. I quickened my stroking, feeling myself getting closer and closer to completion.

My breathing quickened. My vocal cords burned from the need to cry out. My cum splattered on our stomachs, mixing with Pete's as we erupted at the same time.

Pete's head dropped onto my shoulder, his body wracked with aftershocks. His arms encircled my body, holding me close as we fought to catch our breath. I peppered kisses along his neck, feeling his pulse under my lips.

We were so lost in our shared ecstasy we didn't hear the lock click, or the door open.

But we did hear the "What the fuck?!"

......Shit.....


	12. Walked-In

Kyle is so pissed...

Stan looks like he's about to scream...

Kenny is grinning like a fuckin' idiot...

And Cartman... I don't know what he's thinking but it's not good.

I hopped off my boyfriend's lap, ignoring the drying cum on my abdomen. I don't know which bothered me more: the guys seeing me kissing a Goth, covered in the Goth's and my own semen, or the scars that covered my back. I guess all three were equally bad.

Pete stood up beside me, showing off the aftermath of our ecstasy on his own stomach. I could feel the heat of the glare he aimed at my brother and his friends. He took my hand in his and led me out of the living room to the bathroom without a backwards glance at the guys; I could feel four pairs of eyes trained on my scar-covered back. 

Pete slammed the door shut once we were inside; I grabbed a washcloth as he locked the door.

"I thought they weren't going to be here."

I looked up from scrubbing the semen off my stomach to face the dark look Pete was giving me. 'They weren't,' I mouthed, narrowing my eyes. 'They were supposed to be gone all night.' I rinsed off the cloth once I was done then turned back to Pete. 'Here.' I handed him the cloth. 'Clean up.'

"Thanks." Pete sounded upset; it was very un-Goth-like, and it worried me. "Grey, they're not going to leave."

I nodded. I already knew that when Kyle was trying to murder Pete with his glare of death. There was no way in hell the guy were going to leave Pete and me alone now. My perfect evening is ruined. Pete will probably go home and never talk to me again. Hell, he probably thinks I set this up, asking the guys to barge in once we were half-naked and in the claws of pleasure.

"I don't blame you."

What?

Pete's dark blue eyes had softened while I was thinking. He gave his stomach one more swipe then set the cloth on the sink. "You didn't know they were going to show up." His voice had lost some of its anger. "It's not your fault."

I blinked slowly at him. He didn't blame me?

"It'll be okay." He placed his hands on my hips and gripped tightly, but not hard enough to bruise. His eyes bore into my light greys then his lips were   
on mine for a brief moment. "Come on. We need to get out there before your brother gets pissy."

'Too late for that,' I mouthed.

Pete smiled lightly before releasing me. He unlocked and opened the door then led the way back to the living room. Kyle and Stan were standing with their arms crossed over their chests. Kenny had moved our blanket and was sitting on the couch where Pete and I were just fooling around. Cartman had sunk into the recliner next to the couch with his elbows on the arms and his sausage fingers tented under his chin.

I sat down next to Kenny while Pete stood behind the couch, arms over his chest, a glare darkening his handsome features.

"What the hell were you doing?" Kyle's green eyes were ablaze with anger.

Kenny smirked. "Isn't it obviously? They were-"

"Shut up, Kenny."

I leaned back, smothering my scars in the upholstery. A soft hand settled on my shoulder for a moment then left with a small squeeze; Pete's way of comforting me. It helped. I relaxed a bit more, and faced my brother.

'You were supposed to be gone,' I mouthed, curling my fingers into fists. I knew he could read my lips. 'I asked Pete to come over.'

"So you guys could fuck?"

I shook my head. 'We were not going to go that far.'

"Grey and I agreed that we would wait to have sex until we were both ready."

"'Grey?' How come you get to call him that?" demanded Kenny in mock hurt.

"Because I'm his boyfriend, McCormmick."

Kenny stuck his lower lip out in a pout; I resist the urge to smack him. I could never hurt one of my brother's friends.

"So... Greyson. You are screwing a Goth?" Cartman drawled, chocolate eyes boring into my greys. "You never told us you were gay."

'It's none of your business.'

"But I thought we were friends." I didn't know he could read my lips. "You should have told us you were a fuckin' homo. I mean, you are living with Kahl. Maybe he doesn't want to live with a mute faggot who sleeps in the same room as him. Does your fag boyfriend sneak in at night so you can gay-fuck?"

I flew off the couch, knocking Kenny over and ignoring the others' startled shouts. I curled my hands in mid-leap, drew one fist back then thrust it forward. A loud smack echoed off the walls as my fist made contact with a fat cheek. Cartman's eyes widened as his head was snapped to the side. I finally landed, dropping my full weight on Cartman and the chair. The momentum of my movements toppled the recliner onto its back, and I rolled with it, somersaulting once then hopping to my feet.

'Never call me a fag!'

My knuckles flared painfully from the hit, and blood was leaking from the corner of Cartman's mouth. The chubby brunette hauled himself to his feet, grunting from the effort. He wiped the blood away with the sleeve of his coat, darkening the red material. His eyes darkened to a muddy brown then he walked across the living room and out the door without a backwards glance.

I stared after the brunette for a few seconds then picked up the recliner. Once I straightened the chair, I turned to the guys and my boyfriend. They were staring at me with a mixture of shock and amazement.

'What?'

"You just haymakered Cartman, dude," said Stan.

'So?'

"I didn't know you could do that." Kyle's green eyes were wide, but his arms were still crossed angrily over his chest.

Pete stepped over and slid a warm arm around my waist, holding me to his side. "Do you guys have anything to say about us?" His voice had returned to the usual hushed tone he uses when around others. I knew his eyes were narrowed a bit, daring my brother, Kenny and Stan to say anything negative.

"Not really." Kenny's cobalt eyes sparkled with mischief. "Will you guys ever videotape a sex session? ’Cause kinda wanna see it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, and Pete sighed in annoyance. "Shut up, McCormmick."

The blonde snickered then turned to television, which was playing the menu of The Crow. 

Stan lowered his arms to his sides. "So, you two are really together."

"What do you mean?" Pete turned his dark eyes to me. "Did you tell them?"

'They figured out most of it.' I pecked the tip of his nose then stepped out of his embrace. I looked at the guys then turned around, revealing my back fully to them. I could hear their sharp inhales of shock. I knew they had not thought the scars were that bad, that they didn't cover about ninety percent of my flesh.

"Holy fuck."

"Dude..."

"I didn't think they were like that."

I looked up into Pete's beautiful face, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. He knew how much it bothered me to show my scars, but his eyes shone with the pride he felt toward me for overcoming this obstacle. He stepped forward and once again put his arms around my waist, pressing my chest against his, holding me in that wonderful and safe embrace. I could feel his chapped lips nibble at my collarbone for a moment before he released me.

Kyle sighed as I turned back to face him. "I already told you, Greyson, that I was okay with you being gay. And... And that's not going to change." A grin broke out on his face. "And I guess as long as Pete doesn’t bring his Goth shit around and you guys don't have sex here, he can come over anytime he wants."

I shot a smile over my shoulder at my boyfriend; relief flashed in those dark orbs as my brother gave us his blessing.

"What about you two?" Pete asked the blonde and blackette.

"You know I don't give a fuck," said Kenny with a giant grin.

Stan looked from me to Pete then back to me. "As long as you guys don't go overboard in front of me, I don't care."

I nodded in understanding. We weren't planning on doing anything extreme in front of them anyways; maybe kiss but that'd be it. But at least Pete and I don't have to hide our relationship from them.

"What kind of movie is this?"

"It's called The Crow." Pete sat down in the recliner and pulled me down onto his lap by my hips. "It's kind of a dark romantic."

Kenny hummed a 'mm-hmm' and pushed play. "I kinda want to see it."

Xoxoxoxoxo

It was around nine o'clock when the trio left us, though Kyle was reluctant to leave me alone with the Goth. But after Pete convinced him he would not take my virginity, Stan and Kenny finally ushered him out the door, wishing us a good night. As soon as the lock clicked, Pete had me pinned to the couch cushions, hands gripping mine like iron jaws and mouth trying to smother me with delicious kisses. We had refrained from touching each other when the guys were here, but now it was just us.

I reached up and rested my hands on his chest. Feeling mischievous, I flicked his dusky nipples with my thumbs, earning a deep groan that echoed down my throat. I smirked against his mouth and did it again.

Pete tore his mouth from mine and lowered his head to whisper, "You're going to regret that," in my ear. Then his lips were on my neck.

I sighed and tilted my head to the side to give him more access.

Death and despair! Death and despair! Death and despair!

Pete groaned and released one my hands to fish his phone out of his pocket. He gave me an apologetic look, sat up and answered his phone. "Hello?" His voice reverted back to his hushed tones; it must be one of his friends who called.

"I'm at my aunt's, man. Why?"

. . . . .

"She picked me up. I didn't have the gas money to drive here."

. . . . .

"She's in the bathroom, but I'll tell her you said -"

. . . . .

"What the fuck?!"

. . . . .

"You actually believed that fat-ass?"

. . . . .

"What do you mean 'you've been acting distant'? I act like me."

. . . . .

"You're really going to believe that fat fuck instead of your own friend?"

. . . . . 

"Fine. I'll say it: I'm fuckin' gay! Happy now?"

. . . . .

"Goths can be gay."

. . . . .

"What the hell do you mean?"

. . . . .

"Yes. I'm with him. And I'm fuckin' happy being with him. His name is not 'That Gay Mute Kid.' It's Greyson."

. . . . .

"Can we talk about this later?"

. . . . .

"Yes, I am with him right now. I'm not going to tell you where I am. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

. . . . .

"Whatevs." Pete snapped his phone shut then looked at me. His dark eyes were even darker with shock, annoyance, and . . . fear. "Grey... We have a problem."


	13. Why is This Happening to The Goth?

Pete was already awake when I woke up. He was sitting up in bed, back against the wall and phone against his ear. I was a bit disappointed that I had not woken up in his arms, like I had read about in romantic stories, but my disappointment evaporated when I saw the anger burning in his beautiful dark, dark blue eyes.

"You can't be fucking serious," he snarled.

I edged closer and rested my head in his lap. His free hand tangled itself in my hair, stroking gently, acknowledging my presence.

"Do you know who did it?"

I cocked an eyebrow.

"Henrietta, tell me who did it."

Did the female Goth call him or did Pete call her?

"That mother-fucker!" His voice was becoming icy with fury. "What did he take?"

I sat up, blankets pooling around my waist and Pete's hand falling from my hair. The air in the room was chilly and goosebumps rose on my bare torso and arms.

"How bad is it?" The anger was giving way to defeat. "Shit. Okay, I'll talk to you later." He hung up his phone and looked at me. The emotion in his eyes was almost overwhelming. Something bad has happened, something that had to do with him.

'What happened?'

"Someone broke into my trailer. Henrietta said nothing was taken but..."

'But?'

"Someone spray-painted 'A Fag Lives Here' in black paint on the side facing the road. Several of my books were torn up and a rock was thrown   
through my bedroom window. Henrietta said that if I had been sleeping there, something would have been broken." He flicked his red and black bangs out of his face. "I don't know what the fuck, Grey."

I shrugged my shoulders. 'If you weren't with me this would not have happened.'

"No! You will not be blamed for this." He narrowed his eyes at me; I inwardly flinched. He tossed his phone onto the pillow. There was anger in the movement. "I am with you and I am happy being your boyfriend. This isn't your fault, Grey. Okay?"

I nodded and allowed my body to be pulled into a tight hug. Pete's nose nuzzled my neck and his lips brushed lightly against my collarbone. There was nothing sexual about the motion. Just the need to be close. To be comforted.

"I'll have to go home. Check out the damage." Pete sighed against my skin. "I need to call my aunt; see if she can help me out." I knew his aunt would help him out until he got a job after graduation. That was the deal they had made when Pete's parents kicked him out of their house. "Henrietta thinks it was Cartman who did it."

I raised a hand and cupped Pete's soft face. My thumb brushed gains his cheekbone, and I heard his breathing soften, telling me he was calming down a bit.

"I don't know if he was the only one though. Michael got pissed off at me last night." So that was who called him last night after my brother and his   
friends left for their sleepover. "I still can't believe I told him I'm gay." He let out a dark chuckle. "I'm not sure if he would pull something like that though; he's not like that. Neither is Henrietta. Firkle may though. He turned emo and tried to get us brainwashed several years ago." He raised his head from my shoulder and looked into my eyes. "Will you come with me?"

I nodded then leaned forward to kiss him gently. Kyle had told me there were a few homosexuals in South Park, yet Pete's home is the only one that actually got vandalized. Why would people do this to him? He didn't deserve this. If I hadn't have kissed him that day in the closet, we wouldn't be in this mess.

As I gaze at the handsome man sitting in front of me, I couldn't help but wonder: would Pete leave me to have a decent life?

Xoxoxoxoxo

'Oh shit.'

The damage was not as bad as Henrietta described to Pete, but it was still bad. The spray paint can be painted over in no time. The window and locks could be replaced within the week. The books can be tossed in the trash (or buried depending on what Pete wanted) and new ones could be bought on the internet. I knew that Pete already knew this, but the thought of someone breaking into your home while you are gone makes the heart beat faster and thoughts race.

Pete was already on the phone with his aunt. They were deciding when would be the best time to get together and get everything fixed up. I started picking up the bigger pieces of the books while Pete walked around assessing the damage and telling his aunt what had been done. A lot of the books were works by Edgar Allan Poe, and I made a mental note to look for the books on the internet. Maybe give them to him as a birthday present or for Christmas.

"You don't have to pick up all the pages, Grey," Pete called over to me as he looked at the paint job.

I nodded, though I didn't stop until my arms were filled with crumpled pieces of paper and the covers. I didn't know what to do with all the pieces so I placed them in a small pile on the front porch. I sat down on the steps, not really knowing what else to do.

Pete joined me a few minutes later, no longer on the phone with his aunt. "Thank you for picking those up, Grey."

'No problem.' I looked up at him as he stood before me. 'I'll get you others for Christmas.'

"You don't have to do that, babe."

I blushed at what he called me. Pete's never called me 'babe' before. It surprised me but I didn't find it unpleasant.

"Penny said she'll be here by tomorrow so we can figure out what to do." He heaved a great sigh.

"Pete!"

I looked around Pete's body as he turned around. The female Goth was approaching the front porch wearing a thick black winter coat that I knew was hiding her dress. She seemed upset for some reason, but I could not tell if it was because I was with Pete or because her friend's home was wrecked or both.

"What do you want?" Pete sounded more weary than angry.

"I'm sorry about your home," she said when she finally stood in front of us. "Hello, Greyson," she added, acknowledging me much to my surprise.

I nodded in return; I didn't know if she could read my lips or not.

"Michael and Firkle didn't want to come." Henrietta sounded a bit disappointed. "After your confession last night, they've been acting weird. I mean, I've known for a while now and been waiting for you to come out."

"You knew?" Pete glanced down at me and I could see the confusion in those beautiful eyes.

Henrietta rolled her coffee-colored eyes. "Of course I knew. You're one of my best friends. And I honestly don't care." A smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Anyways, when is your aunt coming?"

"Tomorrow if the weather doesn't act up," Pete replied.

"Good. It was Cartman who told us," Henrietta admitted. "We were getting coffee when the fat ass barged in and starting complaining to that Tweek guy about how he got punched by a fag."

My hands curled into fists.

"Then he saw us and started in on how you were fucking Greyson and all that shit." She flashed me a sympathetic glance. "Michael and Firkle kind of flipped shit then Michael called you."

"And that's when I came out," Pete finished with a sigh.

I unclenched my hands and reached out to gently grip his hand that hung at his side. His long fingers squeezed mine, as if he was thanking me for being here. Our gestures of affection did not go unnoticed because Henrietta was trying her best to hide her smirk.

"So you guys really are going out?"

"Yeah. He makes me happy." Pete looked down at me and smiled. "And he's not to be blamed for any of this shit."

I returned his smile slightly. 'Thanks.'

"A Goth dating a conformist... What will they think of next?" There was laughter in Henrietta's voice, and the corners of her eyes crinkled.

"He's not really a conformist, Henrietta. He's just . . . Grey."

I brought his hand back to my mouth and kissed the pale skin.


	14. Taken Away

"Greyson, do you know why Abraham Lincoln grew out his famous beard?"

Garrison's cranky voice broke through my thoughts, and I gave a small start, almost falling out of my chair. I looked up at the balding teacher. He looked as if he was getting frustrated with something, eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his lips. I guess he must have been calling my name for a while. I nodded, though, when I came back to earth. 

"Then come up to the board and write your answer."

At least Garrison isn't a complete asshole, unlike some teachers. I slid out of my seat and walked up the aisle to the chalk board. I quickly wrote out my answer with the piece of white chalk Garrison handed to me - "A young girl wrote a letter to him asking him to grow out his beard." - then returned to my desk; I noticed Cartman, Bebe, and a few others watching me with narrowed eyes. I had found out from Kyle that Cartman had started spreading a rumor since he arrived at school about me being homosexual. I don't know how many believed it or not, but Tweek and Butters had approached me and asked out of pure curiosity. They were cool with my being gay, which proved to me that they would be good friends.

"Thank you, Greyson," said Garrison, "and you correct."

I went back to my idle doodling. Somehow, while I was spacing out, I had drawn an almost perfect picture of Pete on the corner of my paper. I had been working on his eyes when Garrison called on me. Those beautiful, soulful, dark eyes like the deepest part of the ocean. I don't care how corny that sounds.

Tweek gave me a twitchy thumbs-up before returning to his essay on the presidents of the United States. I could tell by the occasional squiggle on his paper that his twitches were getting the better of him today. I followed his example and abandoned my drawing to continue on my own essay. With any luck I could get it done before class is over, leaving my afternoon free to enjoy with Pete.

Br-ring! Br-ring! Br-ring!

I jumped again when the bell that signaled the end of class echoed throughout the building. I closed my books and stood up with my supplies in my arms. It was my final period, the one with the teacher who still has not grasped the fact that I am mute, so I decided to spend it in the gym.

The physical education class was just beginning when I walked into the gym with a book in my hand. The coach, Stine, was okay with me hanging out in the gym as long as I didn't disrupt the class. I took my usually seat on the fifth bleacher from the top, ignoring the group of teenagers who were pretending to stretch their legs.

Five minutes later I found myself rereading the same sentence for the tenth time. I don't know why but I cannot concentrate on anything. It must have something to do with what has been going on; the vandalism to Pete's trailer and his friends being dicks to him (with the exception of Henrietta). It was a hate crime against gays, and yet no one was going to do anything about it. From what the guys have told me Cartman has gotten away with a lot wars, like impersonating Hitler and befriending a death god in order to kill innocent people.  
Others may not want to deal with Cartman, but I'll get my revenge.

I forced myself to relax and focus on my book. But by the time class was over I had only read twelve pages. I didn't have any homework or anything of importance in my locker so I left the building through the side door in the gym. 

The door slammed heavily behind me, locking when it was back in its frame. A crisp breeze brought with it the scent of rain and whipped my hair around. Maybe Pete could come over and hang out with me. I was on the last step when the door opened again; several people followed me down the concrete stairs. I could hear muffled whispering then everything went black.


	15. Locked Up by The Goth's Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: there will be torture scenes in the next couple of chapters. Nothing too explicit, and mostly deals with fear.
> 
> Jag and Iris are some random OCs I created for this story.

I don't know what time it was or how long I had been out when I finally woke up. It was dark, darker than it would have been if I were standing outside. I was lying on a hard floor, all my clothes gone except my boxers. Fear coursed through my veins; whoever took my clothes had seen my scars. . .

I reached my hand out, feeling along the concrete floor. My fingertips grazed something wooden when my arm was fully outstretched. I dragged my hand to the side and felt a gap about the size of my fist then another wooden plank.

I was in a crate of some sort.

Sitting up slowly, the top of my head brushed the top of the box. I forced down my fear as distant memories of the fire invaded my mind. I had been in a sheltered area like this when my birth parents had set the house ablaze.

Footsteps on stairs broke through my thoughts, and my fear flared up again. I looked through the openings between the wooden bars and wince when a door opened and a bright light infiltrated the room. Someone was standing in the doorway, blocking some of the light. I couldn't tell who it was.

"Are you awake yet?" the voice was sloppy as if the speaker had something in his mouth.

I shuffled backward as the person approached the crate. He bent down and peered into the enclosure just as my back pressed against the planks. The man was a teenager, maybe eighteen, and had on dark eyeliner like a Goth, but his face was painted pale and when he smiled sadistically at me I noticed he was wearing false canines. Was this guy trying to impersonate a vampire or something?

While I was examining my captor, I failed to notice that he had pulled something out of his trench coat pocket until he set it down on the floor in front of me. It was a candle, with an unused wick. The man grinned again and then I heard it.

The flick of a lighter.

A bright orange flame popped out of nowhere. I tried to back away from it but I couldn't. The guy laughed a dark chuckle then lowered the lit lighter to the candle. The wick sizzled for a few heartbeats then caught on fire.

Darkness ringed my vision, closing in until all I could see was the dancing flame. My body went rigid and goosebumps erupted all over my skin, making my flesh crawl as if I was covered in bugs. My breathing quickened into panting, and my blood boiled. Sweat formed on my forehead and rolled down my face.

"It's true," the man said, sounding like he was standing two feet away. "You are afraid of fire, aren't you?" He laughed, low and evil. "The fat one was right: you turn into a pussy when you see it." He knocked on one of the wooden planks, laughing loudly when I jumped at the sudden noise. "No wonder your parents tried to kill you. You're pathetic." He rose to his feet, kicked at the crate then left, leaving the candle burning menacingly. The door slammed shut and I was left alone with the candle.

The flame flickered in the breeze the door created when it slammed shut. I shuddered, forcing myself to blink. For a heartbeat I was back in the safety of the darkness but the candle was still there when I opened my eyes. My heart hammered a painful tattoo on the inside of my chest and blackness swarmed my vision. The last thing I saw was that flame, taunting me as it danced in the dark.

Xoxoxoxoxo

Voices echoed throughout the room beyond the closed door, loud enough that I could hear almost every word.

"Why did we even keep . . . I don't think . . . a good plan."

"It's been . . . days. . . The family . . . to the cops."

"No one knows. . . They won't be . . . find him. Cartman said . . . plans to . . . candle to get . . . I think it's . . . of time."

I've been here for days? Without a window to allow light into the room, I could not tell when it was day or night; the days were meshing together. The only light allowed in the room was the candle; they had replaced it . . . yesterday? The wick was nearing the bottom, dimming the flame, but when I woke up a few hours later a brand new candle was burning bright.

My family must have noticed my absence. I hope they didn't blame Pete for this. I know I don't blame him. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his handsome face with those soft pink lips and gorgeous dark blue eyes. I wanted him here with me. To hold me against his body and tell me everything would be okay, that this was just a bad dream

"His boyfriend . . . where he is . . . I don't know . . . do to find him."

"That Goth . . . blamed for . . ."

"Why . . . keeping him?"

"Revenge . . . burned . . . Hot Topic years ago . . . Mike wanted . . . get revenge . . . Goths."

"I think . . . stupid."

"Don't let . . . say that."

Pete was being blamed for my disappearance? No!

"What . . . you doing?"

The door was opened with care, as if the person didn't want to draw attention.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"This is ridiculous! This guy has been locked up for two days." The speaker was a female. "He's barely fed - " My stomach growled at the   
mention of food "- and can only be let out to go the bathroom. This is kidnapping, and you know it."

"I told you Mike wanted revenge," her companion - a male - said from the other room. "Hot Topic was our store of choice, and the damn Goths burned it down."

"But that was years ago," the female protested. "There has to be better ways of getting even than this. It's inhumane." She entered the room and propped the door open with a cardboard box. Her face was painted up like the guy who lit the candle, and when she talked I could see she was also wearing fake canines.

I backed away when she approached the crate. My spine pressed against the wooden planks and I drew my knees to my chest. The female Vampire had a look of despair on her painted face as she watched me.

"This is ridiculous," she snarled, touching the lock at the top of the crate with long fingers. She squatted to peer through the planks. "You're a fuckin' human. Mike and Cartman should not have done this to you." Her voice softened to a gentleness I haven't heard since I was locked up. "My leader was wrong, you know? You don't deserve to be locked up like this." She reached into the pocket of her jacket and withdraw a small bag of candy. "Here." She pushed the bag through one of the gaps and lowered it to the ground. "It's not much, but I know Mike hasn't fed you since yesterday."

I made no move to pick up the bag of candy. How was I to know if this was a trick? She would probably snatch the bag away as soon as I reached out.

The Vampire smiled softly. "I'll leave it here for you." She looked over her shoulder; her companion had appeared in the doorway, face painted and canines peeking out from under his upper lip. "We've got to do something."

"What the hell are we supposed to do?" he growled. "Mike would have our asses if we let him go."

"Can't we just kick the wood to break it?"

The male Vampire shook his head. "Mike had that specially ordered. There are metal poles in the wood. I think he was going to put one of the Goths in it."

"What kind of leader is Mike if he does this?"

"I don't know."

I watched the exchange between the Vampires. They were going to help me? The Vampires were the sworn enemies of the Goths. I glanced at the bag of candy sitting on the floor of my crate.

"I may leave."

"Leave what?"

"This coven. When I joined I thought we were just going to discuss 'Twilight' and find support through our shared love of vampires. I didn't know we were going to do something like this." The female glanced at me. "This is wrong."

"What about Mike?"

"What about him?"

"He's our leader."

"No. He's not my leader anymore, Jag. I was into vampires before I met him. I'll start my own coven, and no one will act like this toward others."

Jag was quiet for a moment then sighed. "You're right, Iris."

I reached out a hand and grabbed the top of the bag. With a quick glance at the Vampires, I tugged it towards me. It made a small crinkling sound, but the Vampires did not notice.

"Maybe we can steal the key from Mike or something," suggested Jag.

"'We?'"

"You know I joined this coven because of you, Iris. You've been my best friend for years."

I reached into the bag and pulled out a small chocolate candy.

"We're going to need help."

"Maybe a few of the others will help. Not all of us are okay with this."

I unwrapped the candy.

"Maybe Luna and Scar can help us out."

I popped the candy in my mouth. It was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted.

"We'll be back," Iris said, looking at me again. "Keep the candy," she added when I motioned to it. She go to her feet and left the room with her companion.

I was left in darkness yet again, with the exception of the candle that burned less than two feet away. But instead of feeling constant dread, I felt a flicker of hope. The Vampires were going to help me out. I guess not all of them are bad.


	16. Speak to My Goth

"Talk! I know you weren't a fuckin' mute all your life!" Mike, face twisted in rage, kicked the crate, and I pressed my bare back against the planks. "What are the Goths planning?"

I shook my head vigorously. The leader of the Vampires had this idea in his head that the Goths were planning an attack or something; he's been demanding me to tell him this 'plan' for the past ten minutes. I never heard of any kind of plan. The Goths would not attack the Vampires unless they had a reason.

Mike let out a yell of frustration then turned to pick something off the floor. It was a stick, about a yard long and stripped of its bark. He dipped the stick toward the lit candle. The end of the stick caught on fire for a second then died to a shining ember.

"I have ways of making you talk," Mike growled, then kneeled before the crate. "You have pyrophobia." He jabbed the burning end of the stick into an opening and stabbed at my leg. A burst a pain blossomed at the point of contact. I gasped sharply and cringed away. "Talk, you Goth fucker!"

The smell of burning flesh reached my nose and my gag was cut off by a hiss. My throat burned with the need to scream my pain. My nerves were alight with rage and fear.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Mike's attention was turned to the doorway but he left the stick pressed against my skin. Memories broke through the barricade. The terror I felt as I pressed my bare back against the brick wall. The flames reaching out with cruel claws to snatch me. Pieces of blackened, burning wood raining down on me, speckling my skin with angry patches of red when they landed. I turned my back on the fire, praying, hoping it was all a bad dream. A screech of pure pain ripped itself free of my throat. Something heavy and alive with flame fell against my back; the stench of flesh being burned filled my nostrils. I screamed for my parents, my friends, anybody to help me. Deep darkness filled my vision as I gave into the pain.

Xoxoxoxoxo

It was dark when I woke up. I must have passed out from the pain; my body was curled in the corner of the crate. Pain flashed through my legs, but the smell of burnt flesh was gone. I sat up slowly, doing my best not to make a sound.

Something glinted in the light the candle was giving off. It was dark but shiny. I looked closer and stifled a gasp. 

It was a cellphone.

I reached out with a shaky hand and grabbed it. Something white fell to the ground when I picked up the phone. There were dark markings on it. I could see that they were numbers. From the light of the candle I could read them. I flipped open the cell phone and carefully entered the number then hit call.

The dial tone was loud in the dark room. I pressed it against my ear in an attempt to stifle the sound. It rang four times before someone picked up, and my heart almost stopped beating as a familiar voice spoke into my ear.

"Hello?"

Pete.

It was Pete's number.

"Hello? Who is this?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

The dial tone returned when Pete hung up the phone. My heart dropped into my stomach. Whoever had left the phone had given me my only chance of freedom and I blew it. 

My hand began to vibrate. I looked down at the phone and Pete's number flashed on the screen. I hit the answer button with my thumb and returned the phone to my ear.

"Hello? I got a call from this number?"

All I could do was breath into the phone.

"Is this a prank call?" There was anger in his voice. "If this is the Vampires, don't call back." He hung up, and my eyes began to water. 

Frustration burned in my veins. I wanted to yell, rant and rave, but my throat was on fire. The scars from breathing in the fire's smoke and embers had almost destroyed my vocal cords. I swallowed to calm myself then took a deep breath. I've got to do this. I've got to get out of here and this is my only way. I pulled up the call history and called Pete's phone again.

There was a deep anger and frustration in his voice when he answered. "Listen, I don't know who this is but -"

This was my only chance. ". . . P-P-heat . . ."

"Who is this?" His anger gave way to weariness.

My vocal cords burned with the effort, but I had to do it. ". . . Ith’s Gree.”


	17. Escape the Fear

"Gree? . . . Grey?" Pete's voice rang in my ears. "Is this Grey?"

". . . Yash . . ."

"Grey . . . You're talking." He sounded like he just saw something incredible, almost unbelievable. "H-how?"

I swallowed again, forcing my vocal cords not to crack under the pressure. ". . . Ne-ed heelp."

"Where are you?"

". . . Crat . . . dug crat."

"A dog crate?" He was getting angry again. "Where are you, Grey?"

". . . Dun-no."

Pete took a deep breath, probably to calm his nerves. I was grateful for that because I was already on the brink of panicking. Hearing him talk, hearing him breath, had a calming effect on me. My heart stopped racing and my breathing was not as labored; I concentrated on trying to communicate with my boyfriend, trying my best to defeat years of being mute.

"Do you have any clue where you are? Please, Grey, you have to know something. Shut up, Henrietta! I'm trying to hear him."

". . . Paple . . . thangs . . . vashires." I broke off into a coughing fit.

"Shh . . . It'll be okay, baby. Take your time if you can." He sounded like he was forcing himself to speak in a calm tone.

I cleared my throat before continuing, ". . . mick . . . vashires . . . dawk." I glanced at the candle. ". . . Fire."

"Fire? Is there a fire? Oh, my god. It's going to be okay, Grey. Don't look at the fire. You're going to be okay."

". . . P-heat."

"I'm here, Grey. I'm not going to hang up. I promise."

I swallowed, moistening my vocal cords then spoke the word that I hoped would tell him everything. ". . . Vampires."

My drum almost popped as he shrieked in a very un-Goth-like manner. "The Vampires have you?!" His voice filled my pure rage. I could see him hopping to his feet, probably knocking over a chair and scaring Henrietta, and trying to shove his shoes on with one hand. "I'll kill them," he snarled.

". . . Burn meh."

"What?"

". . . Burn meh."

"They burnt you?"

I nodded in the darkness, and though he could not see me I think my silence confirmed his suspicions.

"Henrietta, call Michael and Firkle! I don't give a damn if they're still pissed off at me. The Vampires got Grey locked up somewhere! Grey," he continued, "do you know any of their names?"

An image of the Vampire who burned me last night flashed before my eyes. ". . . Mik-ke."

"Mike. He's dead. I know where you are, Grey. I'll be there soon."

". . . Cahman."

"What?"

". . . Cahtman."

"Cahtman? . . . Cartman?"

". . . Yash."

"Did Cartman have something to do with this?"

". . . Toll . . . vampires . . . us."

"Henrietta, try to get a hold of Kyle or Stan if he doesn't pick up. Grey, I'm coming for you. I'm coming for you, babe. I'll be there. I promise." The dial tone replaced his voice. I hit the cancel button then set the phone down where it was before I picked it up.

Pete was on his way. He was going to remove me from this crate, this hell.

I brought a hand up to my throat and massaged the column of flesh and muscle. My vocal cords were stinging from being used, but the pain was not as severe as it had been earlier. I felt a small burst of pride for being able to overcome the worst obstacle in my life. I bet   
Pete would be proud of me as well; maybe he is and was not able to tell me on the phone.

I leaned back against the planks and closed my eyes. Pete's voice had calmed me down to the point where the flame flickered on the wick of the candle was not bothering me as much. I wonder who left the phone on the floor; was it Iris or Jag? It had to be one of them. None of the other Vampires would do such a thing. Mike probably had a hell of a grip on his coven. He must be using fear and intimidation to keep his 'friends' in line.

A slow wave of fatigue washed over my tired body, and it reacted by sliding down to the floor. I curled my legs against my chest to keep   
warm. For a heartbeat I thought I could feel Pete's warm arms embracing me, holding me to his strong body, his breath heated my skin. I could almost smell his addictive scent. My heart had been shattered when I believed Pete would never find me, but now it was being put back together with hope and love. I'm getting out of here. I'll be with Pete soon.

Xoxoxoxoxo

A sweet scent drifted into my nose, yanking me out of my dream, and my eyes opened a fraction. They widened when a strong scent of burning material overpowered it. The room was no longer dark, but alive with orange flames that danced dangerously close to my body. In the flickering light I could see an empty bottle of lighter fluid tossed a few feet away from my crate. A steady river of fire started at the open nozzle and ended at the bottom of the wooden planks.

Someone was trying to set the crate on fire!

As I watched, eyes wide and staring, the wood at the bottom of the planks started to glisten with embers before bursting into flames. The air in and around the crate wavered in the heat. I pressed my back painfully against the back of the crate. I had nowhere to run, and as I tried to make myself as small as possible, the flames crawled up the wood like a dangerous snake from hell.

". . . He-elp." Surprise sparked as the whisper escaped my chapped lips. ". . . so-hom un . . . he-elp."

I tried to breathe but the ash from the wood caught in my mouth and choked me. My arms instinctively wound around my chest as I coughed.

A blazing flash of light told me that the wooden planks on the front of the crate were now fully aflame. I winced against the wild flames, smoke and ash. It was getting harder to breathe. Darkness invaded the edges of my vision. I cupped my mouth with my hand, spread my fingers a bit, and breathed in. My lungs filled with acrid tasting air, but my fingers kept out most of the debris.

". . . P-heat . . . I lohve view . . ."

I would have jumped when the door to the room was slammed open, but my senses were dulled by my fear. Someone was yelling but their voice sounded distant. The flames hid the person from my view - they were starting to cover the sides of the crate - and I could hear the jingle of keys.

"Fuck!"

I looked up at the person when they appeared before my prison. It was Jag. He was trying to open the padlock keeping the crate shut. He fumbled with the lock for a few agonizing moments then let out a triumphant sound which quickly turned into a snarl of anger. I watched as he jumped away, swatting at his shirt where flames had latched on.

This was my chance.

I pressed my palms against the heated wood, gritted my teeth then pushed. The top did not move. I curled my fingers around the edges of the planks and shook with all my might. I could hear the lock trying to slide from the loop, and with one last heave it popped free. The crate's top flew backwards. I gripped the edge of the burning crate and heaved myself out, ignoring the searing pain in my palms. The hem of my boxers snagged on the wood, but I tore myself free. I lurched forward and the ground came rushing up to meet me.

Two arms snatched me mid-fall and set me back on my sore feet. I nodded my thanks to Jag then followed him out of the room. I barely got a glimpse of all the 'Twilight' posters taped to the walls before Jag shoved me up the stairs. I shot through the door only to be met with a great smoky fog.

"Son of a bitch!" Jag coughed angrily. "Mike must've set the place on fire!" He grabbed at his shirt and tore off a strip. "Use this to cover your mouth," he growled, handing me the shredded cloth.

I held the piece of shirt to the lower half of my face. It helped but didn't keep out all of the smoke. I wheezed painfully as I followed the   
Vampire into the dangerous fog.

"Jag!" Iris appeared from the smoke, hand over her mouth, and eyes wide with fear. "The house is on fire!" She looked me over with a quick eye. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. I have felt way better though.

"We need to get out of here." Jag's eyes scanned the smoke filled room - it was the living room. "Can we get out the back door?"  
Iris shook her head. "Someone's blocked it. And the front door was barricaded."

I looked around the room, desperate for a way out. I felt like a rat trapped in a maze, not knowing the way to freedom. Through the fog I could just make out the edges of a window. 

My mind went blank.

My legs propelled me forward.

My body smashed through the glass.

My blood spilled onto the ground.  
My vision went black.


	18. Reunited with My Goth

Something nearby was beeping in an annoying manner. Voices floated through the air into my ears. I opened my eyes into slits. Colors shimmered before my vision, confusing me until they began to take shape.

The first one I saw was my beloved, Pete. He was resting his head on his arms near my knee, eyes closed as if he was sleeping. His hair seemed a bit greasy as if he had not showered in a few days. His muscles twitched underneath his black shirt as he dreamed; I hope he wasn't having a nightmare.

A slight movement on my right caught my attention. I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw Kenny resting in another chair, his head tilted back against the wall. Light snores escaped from his opened mouth. Kenny looked just as un-showered as my boyfriend.

The voices I had heard were drifting through the opened door. It sounded like Kyle and Sheila were talking to someone about my condition.

"He should wake up soon," said a strong voice, most likely the nurse who was overseeing me. "The morphine should be wearing off, and he's going to be sore for the next couple of days."

"Have his burns healed?" Sheila sounded really worried. "I mean, will they scar . . . like the ones on his back?"

"No. They'll be red for a while and painful, but they have healed cleanly." Papers were shuffled around. "The doctor managed to extract all the shards of glass from his body. He has a deep cut on his arm. The bandages can be removed in the next week."

"Was it from the window as well?" Kyle's worry matched his mother's.

"Yes. Apparently that was the arm he used to shield his head when he slammed through the glass." The nurse sighed. "We're lucky we got to him in time; he could have died from blood loss."

I felt a weird itchy feeling on my right arm. I moved my head a bit and looked at the bandage that peeked out from under my hospital gown. I suppressed the urge to scratch at it. I could have died from blood loss? That had not even crossed my mind when I threw myself at the window. The only thing I could remember thinking was escaping from the house.

"He did say something when he was having surgery."

"He said something?" Surprise filled Sheila's voice. "But Greyson can't talk. His vocal cords were damaged by a fire when he was younger."

"I understand your shock, Mrs. Broflovski. I have read his file. But he did say something."

"What did he say?"

"He kept called out for a P-heat."

"P-heat? Pete?" Kyle asked.

"We believe that's what he said."

"He was calling out for his boyfriend," said Sheila, not hesitating to share that I was homosexual; I guess she really was not bothered about having a gay foster son. "Pete is the one asleep on his bed."

I was calling out for Pete? I returned my gaze to the beautiful Goth sleeping against my knee. I wonder if he knew I had done that. I reached out slowly and took a hold of his hand. It was warm, smooth and a bit sweaty, but delightfully familiar. I stroked the top of his hand with my thumb. Pete must have felt it because he started to stir. He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes with his fist, mumbling incoherently about a cat; he looked like a little kid. Then he looked at me. Those beautiful, dark blue eyes stared at me with a mixture of confusion and worry. 

His eyes scanned my face before boring into my light grey orbs. The confusion gave way to happiness and relief.

I smiled slightly, wincing as my chapped lips cracked open a bit. ". . . P-heat."

"Oh, god, Grey." His voice was just above a whisper. He scooted his chair closer to the head of the bed, keeping his hand on my grasp. He reached out with his other hand and carefully cupped my face. I nuzzled into his palm, breathing in his delicious vanilla scent. Oh, stars, I've missed him. "You're awake."

". . . Yash."

His face broke into a grin, the one he would give me when we were alone. "You had me scared to death. You've been out for four days." His smile fell into a frown. “I thought you weren't going to pull through. I thought I was going to lose you."

". . . you where . . . worr-ade?"

"Fuck, Grey. Do you honestly think I wasn't?"

I frowned a bit. ". . . Yash."

Pete's eyes hardened. "I don't want to lose you, Grey. I don't know what I'd do without you."

". . . Affer grasuation . . . yoo whold leaf . . . d-own need meh . . . feend some-own elth."

"I don't want someone else."

". . . Buh affer grasuation . . ."

"I will go to college near here and wait for you. I won't look for someone else because I don't want someone else. I want you, Grey." Pete looked at me with softened eyes and his voice dropped back to a whisper. "I love you, Grey."

A faint burn traveled up my neck; for the first time in days I was blushing. ". . . I lohve view . . . P-heat."

The smile returned on Pete's face, and he leaned up to press his mouth against mine. The familiar velvet touch was like a refreshing glass of water in a desert. This was not my imagination trying to comfort me. It was real, and I was loving every second of it.

"I see you're awake."

Pete sighed against my lips and moved away. I almost whimpered at the loss of contact. I looked past my lover to the nurse and my brother and mother. All three were looking relieved and a bit flustered at catching us in an intimate moment. A loud snort came from Kenny then a relieved, "He's alive." was spoken in a tired voice.

"Are you feeling any pain, Greyson?"

I closed my eyes and focused on my body. Other than the bandage making my arm itch and my lips tingling from the kiss, I didn't feel anything. I opened my eyes, shaking my head. ". . . Eechy," I muttered with a glance at my arm. I refused to release Pete's hand.

"That's something you'll have to get used to." The nurse's voice was brisk but laced with sympathy. "Well, since you're not feeling any pain, you can leave tomorrow." He looked down at his clip board and jotted down a couple notes. "Your cuts and burns have healed nicely, apart from the one on your arm. We'll write you a prescription for pain killers, but go easy on them."

". . . Cahtman?"

"I beg your pardon?"

". . . Cahtman."

"He's being held in a cell," Kyle answered, pulling out his phone. "Mike and several of the others are being held as well. I'm going to call Stan and tell him you're awake."

". . . Jahg . . . Illis . . . don hurrth them."

"Jag and Iris?" Pete asked.

I nodded.

"Don't hurt them?"

I nodded again.

"Okay." He looked up at Kyle and Kenny. "Tell the police to release Iris and Jag."

"Will do. Come on, Kenny." The redhead and the blonde walked out the door.

Sheila watched them go then looked at me with concern green eyes. "How are you feeling, Greyson?"

I huffed a bit. ". . . Irhitated . . . hathe hoshpiteels."

"I know you do," she said with sympathy. "You know, we are going to press charges against them, the ones who did this to you. You'll have   
to write a statement when we get you home. You need to write down everything you saw, heard and -" She swallowed then forced out "-felt."

I nodded.

"You must be Pete." Sheila turned her emerald gaze to my boyfriend. "I believe we've met before when you were more . . . aggressive." She seemed like she was uncertain about putting a label on Pete.

"Most likely," Pete replied, dropping his voice to that husky tone. Man, I've missed that. "I'm not as aggressive anymore." There was a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm Peter Olen. It's nice to meet you." He held out his free hand, and Sheila shook it without hesitation.

"You are Greyson's . . . boyfriend?"

Pete nodded. "Yes. I hope that isn't a problem."

"Not at all." Sheila gave a laugh then added in a low tone, "Do not hurt him, though; I have taken a liking toward this young man." She's actually kind of funny when she's trying to be intimidating.

"I wouldn't dare hurt him, Mrs. Broflovski."

"Good." Her face lit up with a grin. "Welcome to the family, Pete."

"Um . . . thank you?"

I smirked at my boyfriend's shocked face.

"Well, now that we have introductions out of the way, Mrs. Broflovski, we need to discuss some things." The nurse left the room with my foster mother lagging behind. She shut the door, leaving Pete and me alone.

"I wondered where you were. I thought your mom had grounded you or something. But Mike and the Vampires had. . . I never thought they would do this. I could have lost you, Grey. What would I have done if you had been killed? All this happened 'cause Michael had us burn down the Hot Topic. . . He held a grudge this long."

I let Pete ramble on. I knew he was doing it out of guilt, but I was enjoying the sound of his voice. I had been gone . . . a full week without hearing that beautiful, husky voice.

"And what the hell do you mean 'after graduation?' Do you think I'm just going to dump you after I graduate? What the fuck are you thinking? I'm not going to leave you just because you aren't graduating yet. I don't want anyone else, damn it. Not another Goth, not anyone." His dark eyes swirled with emotions; I could not place a name on all of them. "You're all that I want and need, Grey. How can you even think -"

I gripped his chin tightly and forced his face closer. I kissed him in order to shut him up. It seemed to have worked. His muffled speech broke off into a happy sigh as I moved my lips against his. The kiss was a sloppy but at this moment it was greatest thing in the world. Pete moaned softly, and I felt a spike of excitement shoot toward my groin. I gave one last push with my lips then backed out of the kiss. 

Breathing deeply, I willed my growing need down to a manageable point.

Pete opened his eyes - he must have closed them during the kiss - and smiled gently. "I needed that," he whispered.

I nodded then scooted over to the edge of my hospital bed. A faint blush burned my neck as I patted the space next to me. Pete's chuckle was music to my ears; he carefully lied down on the bed next to me. I settled back and turned onto my side. Pete rested his cheek against the top of my head and wrapped an arm around my waist. I burrowed into his neck, breathing in his scent. My ordeal in the crate seemed like a terrible nightmare now that I'm back in the arms of my boyfriend. I know that tomorrow was going to be hectic, but right now I was content with lying on this bed in this hospital in the tight embrace of Pete, my lover, my life.


	19. The Goths' Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Goths may seem a bit OOC in this chapter, but I thought it didn't really matter because this is a fanfiction. I don't know if Firkle is bisexual in the show or not, but I made him that way.

I looked from the pad of paper placed on the table before me to the two cops who were seated across from me. I knew they needed me to write my answers to their questions on it, but my medication was making my hands shake a bit.

"Can you remember who burned you while you were locked in the crate?" asked the skinnier one. His name tag said his last name was Shultz.

The pen felt heavy but I wrote down the lead Vampire's name. "Mike. I don't know his last name. He is the leader of the 'Vampires.'"

"Are the Vampires a new group?"

"'No. My brother told me they have been a group since they were in elementary school." I looked at the heavier cop. His tag read Dall. "Mike is the leader, and he is the one who burned me."

Schultz rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Kids today, I tell you," he muttered to himself before addressing me again. "Mr. Talon, how did you get out of the crate?"

I winced at the memory. "'One of the group, Jag, unlocked the crate. We ran upstairs and met Iris. The front and back doors were blocked with stuff. Then I jumped through a closed window."

"Well, you're story matches the young man's. I believe his name was Jag, the one who let you out." Dall took the pen and pad away from me. "Thank you, Mr. Talon. We're going to look over the evidence and we'll get back to you. Okay?"

I nodded then happily followed them out of the room. I hate police stations almost as much as hospitals. Pete and Sheila were waiting for me in the reception area, grim expressions on their faces. I stepped away from the cops and into my boyfriend's arms.

"The stories match up, Mrs. Broflovski. We'll get our best men to interrogate the Cartman kid. From what I hear he can convince you that a lion is a squirrel."

Sheila nodded, frowning. "He is a very naughty child, officer. I do not know what he has against my boys and their friends, but he has been attacking them like this for many years." She glanced at me. "Greyson, you and Pete go out to the car. I'll be right with you."

"Okay." Pete guided me out the door, his arm still around my shoulder. "Wonder what she needs to talk to them about?" he wondered aloud once the door was closed behind us.

I shrugged my shoulders. Sheila sometimes does things that I just can't understand. But I decided not to question her motives; since day one I knew I could trust her. Instead of getting in the car when we got to it, I leaned against the side, stuffing my hands in my pockets. Pete stood in front of me with a soft smile on his face.

"We'll get through this, Grey." His voice was as gentle as his smile. "Cartman and the Vampires are going to get what's coming to them."

I nodded. When I got out of the hospital this morning around eleven o'clock, no one knew where Cartman and Mike were hiding. The cops had found them hiding out in the woods on the west side of town by Stark's Pond; they had a bag of food and supplies with them, so the police assumed they were going to hide out for a few days. I had been too stoned on my pain medications to fully comprehend what Pete was telling me, but he repeated it not long before we came to the police station.

"You know," Pete said, his smile turning mischievous, "you were funny when you were high on your meds. You were dancing around your room and knocking into things. Kyle almost had a heart attack when you bumped into the desk. He thought you were going to break the computer." He rested his arm on the hood of the car above my head and leaned in close. "I think you were trying to talk too. Sheila thought you were going insane." He brought his lips to mine and barely kissed me. It was a simple touch, the kind that he knew would make me crave more. "You must have been scared to death, when the Vampires had you locked in that cage. And the fire. . . I can't imagine. . ." Pete repeated his light kiss, leaving me a bit light-headed. "How did you force yourself to talk? I can't figure that out."

". . . It wash . . . meh olly shance." I swallowed to moisten my vocal cords. ". . . I nehded ew . . . I had to . . . tolk to geh ew . . . to meh."

Pete smile against my lips then applied the force I wanted. I sighed into his mouth, shoving my tongue, reintroducing myself to his taste. Pete groaned happily and returned the gesture. Our muscles danced a tango only they knew. I raised my arms and grabbed Pete's dark shirt, fisting it and pulling him close. He lowered his arm and rested his hands on my waist. His thumbs snagged onto my belt loops, holding our hips together.

I missed this . . . so much. . .

My boyfriend drew away first, though rather reluctantly. His lips were plump from kissing and his eyes were glittering with happiness and . . . love. I remember he had told me he loved me yesterday. A blush burned its way up my neck. I've never had someone love in that way.

At that moment, I knew I was not going to be alone.

Xoxoxoxoxo

"I am so glad you're okay!" Henrietta threw her arms around my neck in a very un-Goth-like gesture. I awkwardly patted her back in return. "Pete was freaking out like no other when you called." She pulled away but kept me at arm's length with her pudgy hands on my shoulders. "The Vampires had no reason to kidnap you like that, or burn you or keep you locked in a cage." She narrowed her coffee brown eyes. "Even the guys didn't think it was cool." Henrietta's gaze flashed over my shoulder at the Michael and Firkle, who were sitting at the table in Pete's dining - living room.

I had found out that Pete's Aunt Penny had gone ahead and had her nephew's trailer repaired while I was in captivity. She had told Pete to give me a hug when I got out of the hospital and had sent me a card. I was touched by her kindness and made a mental note to send her a card in return.

"Do you know what they are going to do to Mike or Cartman?" Henrietta demanded, capturing my attention again.

I shook my head and glanced at Pete for help. He was sitting at the table with the other male Goths, an amused smirk on his face. Obviously watching his boyfriend get attacked by his best female friend was funny to him, though his male friends look like they were sucking on lemons or something.

"They are going to decide then give us their decision tomorrow," Pete answered. "Now, Henrietta, let my boyfriend go." He let out a low chuckle; I wanted to swipe the smirk off his face. "I think you scared him with your hug."

"Am I not allowed to hug him?" she retorted, glaring at the black-and-red haired Goth. She turned her eyes back to me. "Am I allowed to hug you, Grey?"

I swallowed then nodded slightly.

Henrietta flashed a smug grin at Pete, gave me one more squeeze then released me. I moved toward Pete and let out a silent yelp when he grabbed my hips and plopped me in his lap. I blushed under the gaze of his friends; Michael took a sip of his coffee and Firkle rolled his eyes in, I guess, was disgust.

"Do you guys have a problem with Grey?" Pete looked his male companions, eyes narrowed. I knew he was challenging his friends, even though his tone was friendly enough. "Do you have a problem with me being gay?"

The two male Goths were silent, then Michael spoke up, his voice in its normal monotone. "It's whatevs, man. It's your life, not mine." He sighed and took another drink. "Are you sure you want to be with a conformist?" His eyes darted from Pete to me and back.

"He's far from a conformist," Pete growled. "He's just Grey, and I love him for that."

"Fine. He's not a conformist. I don't care who you're with, Pete. Just don't do any of that kissing shit in front of me."

I blinked a few times. Did Michael just give us his blessing?

Pete didn't pause to gloat. "Firkle?"

Henrietta sat down beside the youngest Goth and looked at him expectantly. "Come on, Firkle. You know he won't shut up until you - "

"I'm bi."

I cocked my head to the side as the Goths stared at their friend.

"What?" asked Michael.

"I'm bisexual." Firkle's voice held nothing but certainty.

"You never told us."

"I didn't think it mattered," Firkle said, glancing at the 'leader' of the Goths. "None of us actually showed any interest in anyone, so I thought it didn't matter if I was bi or not."

I could hear the smile in Pete's voice when he spoke. "So I wasn't the only one who had a secret."

Firkle shook his head. He looked more like a young teenager than an intimidating Goth. "I've known I was bisexual since sixth grade." Fear flashed in his chocolate eyes as he added, "Am I going to be kicked out of the group?"

Michael arched an elegant eyebrow. "Firkle, did you hear what I said to Pete? I don't care who you're with. It's your life."

"Thanks."

I looked at Pete and almost grinned at the relief and happiness that swam in his dark, dark blue eyes. I pressed a small kiss to his forehead.

"Hey! What did I say about the kissing?"

Pete's smirk grew. "That wasn't a kiss, Michael." He grabbed my chin in a tight grip and slammed his lips against mine in an almost painful way. He moved his mouth against mine for a few seconds then backed away; I almost whined at the sudden departure. "That was a kiss." Michael made a sound of disgust, and Henrietta actually giggled. Firkle didn't say anything but I knew he had watched the kiss, probably to get pointers or something.

I smiled down at my boyfriend.

This was perfect.


	20. The Love of My Goth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited lemon is in this chapter. :D

I am so fuckin' stressed. I wish I had kept some of my pain killers; they would have helped calm me down. I would have shared them with Pete, who was just as stressed the last time I saw him.

It's been a week since the police figured out what to do with Mike, the leader of the Vampires, and Cartman.

It's been six days since the judge ordered them to do four hundred hours of community service, attend counseling sessions two times a week, and wear tracking anklets. 

It's been two days since Garrison and all the teachers welcomed me back and surprised me with the bad news that I had to take at least four of the eight finals, in spite of my recent captivity. I had chosen the History, Math, Biology, and Writing finals because I knew they would be the easiest.

It's been a day since I last kissed Pete.

And this fuckin' textbook was not relieving me of my stress, only adding to it. The words on the page I was currently reading were meshing together.

Pete was graduating tomorrow. The ceremony is being held in the gymnasium at the school. The student council and several teachers had been decorating it all day with ribbons and balloons and whatever else the occasion called for. I'm planning on attending the graduation ceremony to watch Pete, and Michael and Henrietta, received the little piece of paper called a diploma, stating that person has successfully past all the challenges of high school and was ready to take the real world on.

I shook my head and stared at the book before me. It was my history textbook; I have a final in that class tomorrow and was not looking forward to it. I keep getting the Battle of Bunker Hill mixed up with the Battle of Gettysburg. I don't know why I have to know the difference. Both had bloodshed and people with horrible tempers. 

I glanced at the alarm clock by Kyle's bed. It read four-ten, which means I've been studying for only thirty minutes. For a brief moment I wish Kyle and his friends were here to help me out or distract me, but they had gone to Stan's house to study for all of the finals. Ike left not long after them, saying something along the lines of football and decent weather before bouncing out the door. Gerald was at the office working on a lawsuit for some family who lived out of town. Sheila, a PTA member, had gone to the school to help get the gym ready for the graduation ceremony.

I narrowed my eyes at the clock. It's mocking me; I know it is.

A light tap on my window caught my attention. I turned on the spot and looked out the window behind me. To my delight, the distraction came in the form of a smirking Pete perched on the tree branch by the window like a dark owl. I unlocked the window and pushed it up until there were a space big enough for him to crawl through.

". . . w-hat are you . . . ding here, P-heat?" I asked once he was seated on my bed, brushing bits of leaf out of his bi-colored hair. I closed the window and faced him. ". . . Why comb true . . . the windoh?"

"My Grey Senses were tingling," he answered, his smirk growing wider, "and they were telling me that you needed a distraction." Damn, he's good. "As for the window. . . I thought it would be romantic."

I rolled my eyes at the Goth then returned to my textbook. I'm not in the mood to deal with a playful Goth, even if his distraction was desired. I barely got through one paragraph when I felt hot lips on the back of my neck. They pecked a trail down my spine, sending shivered cascading down my back. I swallowed down my silent moans as the tip of a tongue flicked against my skin. Two legs encased in black jeans materialized on either side of mine, knocking my book to the floor. A warm arm wound around my chest and pulled me back against a firm chest.

"Take a break, babe," Pete whispered in my ear.

His arm lowered down to my waist, where it was joined by the other, and two hands found the hem of my shirt. Long fingers toyed with the edge for a few moments then dove under my shirt. My back arched almost painfully and my head fell against his shoulder; he brushed all his fingers against my hardening nipples. My jaw dropped as a silent groan vibrated my throat. Pete smirked against my neck and repeated his actions.

I swallowed hard and shook my head.

"Please, Grey?" he begged, tweaking my hardened buds between his thumbs and forefingers. "I know you've been studying like a madman for the past two days." His tongue curled around my earlobe, pulling it into his mouth to nibble gently.

My hands dropped to his legs, and I fisted his black jeans. I became aware of how tight my red shorts were becoming; the seam in the middle scraped against my flesh with each twitch of my legs.

". . . P-heat. . ." My eyes widened, but not from the action of my boyfriend. I had moaned my Goth's name.

Pete released my ear and kissed the tender flesh right below it. "You said my name," he said in a tone that was huskier than usual. There was a hint of a smile in his voice. "Do you want to study, Grey?" He was testing me. "Or -" He pinched my nipples again, and I silently cried out. "- do you want to take a break? It's up to you."

I knew he was going to say that. Pete wasn't the kind of guy to push me into doing something I didn't want to do. I did need to study for my finals, but how the hell am I supposed to focus on my books with a full erection and a sexy Goth in my bed? I growled in my mind. Well, I can take a break. A small one. . .

I turned my head to the side and captured his mouth with mine. Pete grinned against my lips as he curled one hand around my torso and help twist my body into a more comfortable position. His other hand did not give up its attack on my buds though, and I sighed into his mouth. Our tongues met in between our wet caverns, fighting for dominance. Pete won, as usual, and I allowed him to retrace the contours of my mouth.

His distraction was working, but I did feel his hand leave my chest to trail down my body to the top of my shorts. I reached my own hand up to grip his bi-colored hair. I knew what he was up to: distract me with the kiss then go for the hardness in my shorts. I'll give it to him, though, his plan was working.

The air around us may have become heated during our kiss, but I still hissed as the air hit my heated erection. Pete pulled my shorts down a bit then reached into them to rub the pad of his forefinger along the vein on the underside of my dick. I arched again, breaking the kiss to toss my head back. A low chuckle from Pete sent vibrations through our bodies. I jumped a bit when his thumb glided over the slit at the tip before he curled his fingers around the hardened flesh.

"You're so hard," he breathed, his warm breath caressing my neck.

Really? I hadn't noticed.

My grip on his hair tightened as he stroked my length, lazily drawing his thumb over the tip every time he reached the top. The heat was getting to me. With my other hand I grabbed the hem of my shirt and, with Pete's help, lifted the cloth over my head. I tossed the offending fabric to the floor, exposing my torso to my boyfriend.

"You're beautiful," Pete said before kissing me again.

I backed away and gently pulling his hand off my dick. Pete made a questioning sound, but I ignored him, sliding off the bed to my feet. I spun on my heel and faced my boyfriend. His face was flushed from the rush of kissing, and his eyes looked me up and down, lingering on my dick. I glanced down at his clothed lap and saw that his cock was straining against his jeans; I almost winced in sympathy. My body acted on its own: my hands reached down and undid his pants, sliding them and his boxers down to his knees; my legs bent until my knees touched the ground; my dick wept as the tip brushed against the blanket while I was kneeling. Without casting a look up at Pete, I leaned forward and flicked the angry red tip of his dick with my tongue.

Pete sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.

A small pearl of precum appeared, and I lapped at it. The taste was salty but held a hint of sweetness. Feeling bold, I flattened my tongue and stroked it up the underside of his engorged cock. Pete moaned loudly, and I was gratefully none of my family was going to be home anytime soon. There was a rustling up above then his black shirt landed next to me in a small heap; he must have gotten hot as well.

"Damn it, Gr - Ah!"

I popped the head into my mouth and sucked. Pete's pants and groans shot straight to my groin. I wrapped my own fingers around my hot member and stroked myself. A silent moan vibrated up my throat and into Pete's dick, causing him to yelp.

"Grey. . . Nngh . . ."

Pete's hands grabbed onto my shoulders, and I removed his dick from my mouth with a small pop. Pete tugged at my arms, and I stood up, taking my hand off my cock and making Pete release his grip. I looked into my boyfriend's face. His dark blue eyes were glazed with love and lust; I bet mine looked the same. His warm hands drifted down and pushed my boxers down my legs. I stepped out of them. I've never been this naked in front of someone. Pete's eyes roamed over my bare body, hungrily eying the skin, scarred and clear.

"Beautiful," he murmured before hastily taking off his own boxers and jeans. They pooled on top of his sneakers, but he kicked everything off in less than five seconds. I swallowed as I gazed down at my boyfriend, naked as the day he was born. "Come here." He took my hand and gently pulled me onto the bed, shifting his body so his head was at the pillow end.

I glanced shyly at his hard member and blushed. ". . . I wah-na . . ." I broke off and swallowed again.

Pete cupped my chin and turned my head to face him. "You want to what, babe?"

". . . mahy ove . . ."

"I'm sorry?"

I sighed before finally whispering, ". . . make lewve."

Pete smiled then leaned in to kiss me. I returned the gesture, loving the sweetness of the contact. It only lasted for about a minute; our kisses grew a bit sloppier and needier. I ground up against Pete, relishing the feel of my dick sliding against his, the tips hooking and creating delicious friction. Pete backed away first, lips plump from kissing and eyes half-lidded. He released my chin but held out his first, second and third fingers.

"I need you to suck, baby."

I arched an eyebrow but didn't protest as I allowed Pete's fingers into my mouth. I gathered some spit on my tongue. With quick, swirling motions, I coated his fingers with my saliva. After about a minute Pete deemed his fingers sufficiently coated. He nudged me onto my back; for a few moments I felt a vulnerability but it passed quickly. Pete smiled up at me as he settled himself on his knees between my spread legs.

"This will hurt a bit," he warned.

". . . Halve you done . . . tis befoor?"

His smile fell into a small frown. "Once. I'm not going to lie. But since it's our first time together, it's kind of like I'm a virgin again." His dark blue eyes softened. "Are you okay with this?"

I nodded. I should have known he was with someone before me, especially since he showed me the results of all those tests for sexual diseases. That seemed like so long ago . . . What the hell?!

The tip of a finger was prodding my entrance . . . or exit, whichever it's called. It poked for a few more seconds then slowly forced its way passed the tight muscles. My teeth clicked together as my jaws shut, and my eyes slammed closed. It wasn't as painful as I imagined it would be, but the sensation was bizarre. I bit my lip as Pete slowly withdrew his digit then pushed it back in, making circles to open me up. Pete peppered my face with light kisses as he carefully added his second finger. I winced but Pete kissed me hard to distract me. I drew in a sharp breath when he pushed in his third and final digit.

"It's okay, Grey," Pete whispered when I slammed my eyes closed. He moved his fingers in a three-way scissoring motion. "This is just to get you ready."

I could have guessed that part, but it still hurt like hell.

Pete's fingers were slowly withdrawn from my backside. I opened my eyes and looked up at my boyfriend. A faint blush painted his face, neck and upper chest a pale pink. I watched through slitted eyes as Pete gently positioned my legs: pushing my feet closer to my body, and making my knees bend and my hips to raise a bit.

"Grey, are you okay with doing this? We can stop."

I shook my head slowly.

A small smile of relief graced his face. "If you need me to stop, tap my arm three time, okay?"

I nodded and gritted my teeth as he nestled himself between my legs. My heart spiked at the feeling of the slick tip of his dick poking my entrance. It felt a lot bigger than his fingers, all three of them.

"It's going to hurt, babe, but I promise it will get better," Pete comforted me in a soft voice. He took a deep breath then released it slowly. "I'm going to enter now." He looked into my eyes and didn't break contact as he gripped my hips firmly. My eyes squeezed shut and my head fell back in a silent scream as he shoved his hips forward, sheathing himself inside my body in one powerful thrust.

Oh fuck! It fuckin' hurts!!!

I felt like I was being split in two from the inside. My arms instinctive wrapped around the first thing I could find in an attempt to anchor myself to reality, and that thing was Pete. His chest collided almost painfully with mine as I yanked his upper body down to me, digging the tips of my fingers into his taut flesh. He muttered a "Ow . . ." but decided not to move, lying on me with his engorged dick pulsing dangerously inside my rectum.

"It's okay, Grey," he whispered in my ear. "Tell me when you're ready for me to move. I love you, baby." He kissed my cheek, and I opened my eyes to look at him. His face was still flushed but there was intense ecstasy in his eyes. I tried to envision what it was like to be him at this moment: lying on top of your beloved with your raging dick buried deep inside a hot, moist place that no one else has been. It was an unusual vision, but somehow it calmed me a bit. Pete kissed my forehead then whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

We must have lain there for a minute before the pain numbed down enough to a tolerable level. I gazed into those gorgeous dark blue eye and gave the smallest of nods. Pete smiled and kissed me on the mouth as he slowly started to pull out until only the tip was left. With a soft grunt, he pushed back in. I winced at the intrusion but it wasn't as painful as the first thrust. Pete repeated the movements several more times, allowing me to get used to having a seven inch dick being pushed into and pulled out of my entrance.

"It should be. . ." Pete mumbled to himself. He readjusted his grip on my hips then shift a bit to the right before shoving back in.

A blinding flash of light took over my vision as a spike of intense pleasure zipped up my spine. I silently cried out. What the fuck was that?!  


"Found it." There was triumph in Pete's husky voice before the tip of his dick touched that spot again.

I don't know what the hell his cock was attacking in my body, but . . . My stars! It felt amazing! I dug my nails into his back, making him groan, and arched my hips. 

"Ah . . . Nngh . . . G-Grey . . ." Pete moaned a bit louder than the last. His thrusts were becoming relentless. He released my right hip and brought his hand up to hold onto the edge of the mattress; with this simple action he was able to drive deeper and harder into that one spot. 

My dick was trapped between our hot, sweaty bodies. I could just feel my precum being smeared on our skin. I ignored the nagging feeling of my dick being deliciously crushed and rolled my hips in time with Pete's thrusts. Pleasure coursed through my veins as my Goth pistoned in and out of my body. A now familiar feeling coiled in the pit of my stomach. I panted heavily in Pete's ear, silent groans vibrating up my throat.

". . . P-heat. . ."

I can't . . . Ugh!!

A giant spasm gripped my body, and hot, sticky cum erupted from my cock. My orgasm was powerful, almost bordering on the edge of dangerous. I could feel my entire body spasm, and Pete groaned in my ear.

"Oh, god! Grey . . . you're so . . . unn . . . tight. . ." His thrust were becoming erratic, and I knew he was trying to reach that sweet completion. I rolled my hips with his, though my strength was ebbing. ". . . Mmm . . . Gonna come . . . Ungh! Grey!" he cried out my name. I felt something thick and wet slam into the walls of my rectum. It was gross but oddly satisfying at the same time. Pete collapsed on top of me, gasping for air. I withdrew my nails from his skin and wrapped my arms around his sweaty torso.

". . . I love you. . . "

"I love you too, Grey."

I smiled and nuzzled his drenched hair. I never knew something like this could happen to me. Growing up, I never allowed myself to believe that I would find someone and be happy with them. I had shut myself away from the world. But now as I rested on my bed with my lover in my arms, spent to the point of being unable to move, I decided I had been wrong.

And so was the internet in a way. I had looked up the fundamentals and techniques used for gay sex when I became used to my sexuality, after years of repressing myself. Almost everyone had said that it was most likely not going to be pleasurable and that all I'd feel was the pressure. I may have felt the pressure, but I also experienced the love and pleasure of making love with my boyfriend. Suck on that, internet.

"Are you okay?" Pete lifted his head and looked down at me, worry sparkling in his dark blue eyes. "Grey?"

I nodded and allowed a tired smile to show.

Pete face showed relief. "I'm going to pull out now, okay?"

I nodded again then winced a bit as Pete carefully, slowly withdrew all the way, the tip making a small pop. He collapsed onto the bed beside me. I sat up, trying my best to ignore the throbbing in my backside, and picked up the blanket that had fallen to the ground during our love-making. I yanked it up on the bed and covered our worn out bodies. Pete sighed as the cool blanket touched his hot skin. I rested my head on his chest, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, holding me close to him. I listened to his heart as it slowed to normal.

"I love you, Greyson Talon-Broflovski."

I smiled softly. ". . . I love you. . . P-heat Oh-lain."


	21. The Third Son

I was eternally thankful I had heard the front door open. Pete and I had been lying on my bed, still coming down from our highs, talking about the graduation ceremony when I heard the door being thrown open. We were off the bed and dressed in record time - I think about thirty seconds for Pete, but I had taken longer because my backside was still in pain.

Sheila had called up the stairs, informing me that she had picked up my brothers as well as some pizza. Pete and I combed our hair as we descended the stairs, trying to make ourselves presentable and to hide the fact that we've just had sex. My foster mother was a bit surprised to find that Pete was at the house, and Kyle kept throwing suspicious looks our way.

"I'm so grateful that you stopped by to help Greyson study for his finals, Pete." Sheila used a fork to cut her slice of pizza.

"It's no problem at all, Mrs. Broflovski."

"Please call me Sheila." She smiled widely at the Goth, who nodded in return with a small smile. "I hope you two behaved yourselves while we were gone."

"Of course."

I hid my snort of laughter with a cough. Kyle narrowed his eyes at me as Pete carefully patted me on the back.

"You okay, Grey?"

I nodded then stuck my tongue out at Kyle when Sheila wasn't looking. The two of us got into a staring contest, grey and green clashing. Ike managed to unknowingly distracted Pete and Sheila from the two of us by asking Pete about the graduation ceremony.

"'I know you two did something,'" Kyle mouthed, glare intensifying.

"'At least it wasn't on your bed,'" I shot back.

Disgust flashed in Kyle's emerald eyes. “That is so gross.'"

"'But it was so awesome.'" I glanced at the other three at the table; Pete and Sheila were talking to Ike about high school. "'You weren't home.'"

'"I could have walked in, like that other time.'"

I rolled my eyes. "'Sorry, Dad.'" I sighed quietly, cooling my sarcasm. "'I'm sorry, bro.'" I've never called him that before; his eyebrows raised at the word. "'We didn't mean to get carried away. It just . . . happened.'"

Kyle's glare softened a bit into angry concern. "'Did you at least use protection?'"

"'No. But Pete is clean.'"

"'How do you know?'"

"'He got tested; he showed me the results. He's clean.'"

"'Are you?'"

I raised my eyebrows and half-lidded my eyes in my ‘you've-got-to-be-shitting-me’ look. "'Yes, you nosy fuck.'" I shifted in my seat a bit then frowned. Something was soaking through my boxers and into my jeans. My eyes widened a bit when I realized what it was. I tapped the table to get Sheila's attention and motioned in the general direction of the bathroom.

"You may be excused, Grey, but wash your hands before you come back."

I gave her the thumbs up then hopped to my feet. Without a backwards glance, I rushed out of the dining room before anyone could see the dark mark that I knew was on the back of my jeans. I darted quietly up the stairs and bolted into the bathroom.

Xoxoxoxoxo

I returned to the dining room about five minutes later, free of Pete's cum and in a fresh pair of jeans. My family was still at the table, talking and eating. The atmosphere was comforting and happy, and I easily slid back into my seat. I was about to take a bite of my slice of pepperoni pizza when the front door opened again.

"What smells good?" Gerald called from the living room. He appeared in the dining room doorway with a weary smile on his face. "Ah . . .   
That looks delicious. Hello, Pete," he added, glancing at my boyfriend as he sat down in his usual seat. 

"Hello, Mr. Broflovski."

"Well . . . I've got some news." Gerald scooped up a piece of sausage pizza. "That social worker called."

Sheila set her fork down and looked at her husband. "The one who brought Greyson here?"

Gerald nodded. "Yes. She found out about the . . . incident."

I glanced at Pete, but his attention was focused on my foster father. "What did she want?" he asked.

"She does not think this is the right environment for Greyson. She was in hysterics, carrying on about how she should have never left him here in South Park and whatnot. I think she was more upset than you've ever been, dear," he added, turning his brown eyes to his wife.

Kyle's mouth dropped open and Ike actually asked, "Is that even possible?"

Gerald ignored his youngest son's question. "She wants to place Greyson in a more suitable home."

"She can't do that!" Sheila growled, looking intimidating with her green eyes narrowed and mouth set in a deep frown. "I'm not giving up my son."

My heart swelled until I thought it would burst from my chest. Sheila called me her son! I've never been someone's son before, not even to my birth parents.

"You don't have to, dear."

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"'What?'"

Gerald looked at each of us teenagers before turning his gaze back to his wife. "It took a while but I managed to calm her down. I told her she would be making a huge mistake by taking Greyson out of this environment." He took a bite of his pizza, chewed thoughtfully then swallowed. "I told her that Greyson has flourished while under our care. He has made friends. His grades are a whole lot better than they have ever been while he lived with other families. He is in a relationship with a responsible and caring young man." Gerald smiled at Pete, who gave a small smile in return. "I gave her the number to the school so Mr. Garrison and Mrs. Victoria can confirm my statements. I told her we would fight to keep Greyson in our home, but she had already made up her mind about letting him stay." His chocolate eyes shimmered with emotion. "She's not going to take our son away."

I stood up from my seat. All eyes were trained on me, but I ignore the stares. I stepped around the table until I stood before my foster father.

"Is everything okay, Greyson?" Gerald asked, worry making his wrinkles more prominent on his forehead.

Before I could register my own body's movements, I had my arms around the man's shoulders and was hugging him. I'm not usually one to show affection, unless it's toward Pete, but this moment called for it.

Gerald remained frozen for a few heartbeats before he hugged me back. The gesture lasted for a few seconds before I pulled away. I looked into his eyes and spoke clearly for the first time in years. "Thank you. . . Dad."

Tears formed in Gerald's eyes. But they were of happiness, not depression. "You're welcome, son."


	22. Graduation of The Goths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit rushed due to the fact that I hate graduations. I still wish I had missed mine, and that was five years ago.

The student council and the PTA had done a great job on the decorations, if I shall say so myself. The stage was decorated with at least two hundred white balloons attached to the edge, and ten white streamer braids were strung from ceiling to the corners of the stage, creating a tent of some sort. The podium where the top student would give his or her speech had a wreath of white roses attached to the front of it. A table stood on the left side of the stage; at least thirty vases, each holding a white rose, and rolled up pieces of parchment were scattered on the table top.

Folding chairs adorn with a white bow on the back had been set up before the stage. That's where the students who were graduating were going to sit. The family and friends of the graduates would be sitting on the bleachers on either side of the gym. The school band was sitting behind the graduates' chairs, their instruments poised, ready to begin the graduation song.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It read five-fifty-five, leaving only five minutes until the graduation ceremony started. 

Pete's aunt, Penny, was sitting beside me on the top bleacher. She was like on older version of her nephew, right down to the black jeans and shirt, and converse shoes. She even spoke in a husky tone. The only differences were that the highlights in her hair were blue, her eyes were the color of a cloudless sky, and her shoes were pink. Firkle sat on her other side, cleaning the dirt from underneath his nails with his switchblade.

My family was sitting a few bleachers down from us. They had told me this morning that they wanted to be present when Pete received his diploma. I don't know if they were doing it because they didn't want me to come alone or to show support for the man who stayed by my side at the hospital. What I did know was that Kyle has been glancing back every few minutes to make sure I was doing okay. I blame it on the big-brother-syndrome.

"When is this damn thing going to start?" Penny grumbled, leaning back against the wall.

I shrugged then jumped when the band started to play. Firkle and Penny chuckled as I almost bumped into the people sitting in front of us. Penny grabbed my arm, steadying me. I mouthed my thanks to her and turned my head to watch the double doors at the end of the gym. They swung open and several teachers, including Garrison, and Principal Victoria walked into the room. The principal hurried to the stage and took her place behind the podium.

The students followed the teachers, wearing off-white gowns and caps. I found Pete, Michael and Henrietta almost immediately, frowning angrily at being forced to conform with the rest of the graduates.

I smirked at their anger. If they wanted to graduate and make something of themselves, then they'll have to get over wearing the same thing as everyone else. I absent-mindedly readjusted the sleeve of my black and grey striped shirt, shifting a bit in my seat. My backside was still stinging a bit from last night. I have no regrets though. I am glad it was Pete who took my virginity.

Pete sat next to Henrietta when he got to his seat. He swiveled his head around, dark blue eyes scanning the crowd until he caught sight of me sitting with his aunt and youngest friend. His frown gave way to a tiny smile of relief. Did he think I wasn't going to show up? I promised him I'd be here to watch him get his diploma. He nudged Henrietta and nodded in my general direction. Her smile was bigger than his when she saw me. I raised my hand in a small wave.

"Poor guys," Firkle muttered, though there was a hint of laughter in his voice. "They get to wear those awful conformist clothes."

"You'll have to wear them, too, when you graduate, you brat," Penny said with a snicker.

Firkle crossed his arms over his chest and actually stuck out his bottom lip in a pout.

Once all the students were seated and the band had finished their song, Principal Victoria began a speech about how proud she was of the graduating class. She mentioned the pride she felt about having another set of grand students leaving the school to pursue their interests and their lives.

When she was done she invited a female student up onto the stage to give another speech. I knew student’s speech would be about the same things that Principal Victoria mentioned in hers so I zoned out. She talked for around five minutes before she took her seat again. I applauded politely with the rest of the audience.

Principal Victoria resumed her position and gave out instructions on what the graduates should do next. When she called his or her name, the student was to go on stage, receive their diploma, shakes hands with the principal and the chosen faculty then exit the stage on the left to get their picture taken.

I watched with my new family member and friend for our Goths to be called on. Michael was first, and Penny clapped louder than the rest of the audience. She whooped like a crazed idiot when Henrietta was called, then wolf-whistled when Pete's name was announced. Even from my position I could see the blush that had crawled up his face. I smiled softly as my boyfriend was given his diploma, pride flooding my veins.

Xoxoxoxoxo

"I am so proud of you!" Penny snatched up her nephew in a giant hug. "You actually graduated! Wait 'til your parents hear about this."

Pete groaned and promptly untangled himself from his aunt. "They wouldn't care, Pen."

"You don't know that." Her eyes flitted over his shoulder to me for a second. "I'll call them; you just have fun at whatever party you're going to tonight."

I tiptoed toward my boyfriend then slowly made a grab for the tassel that hung off his cap. It was jet black and kind of silky to the touch, much like Pete's hair. I flicked my wrist, brushing the loose end against his neck. I barely let go of the tassel when Pete spun around. A soft smile bloomed on his face when he realized it was me.

". . . Em prood of you, P-heat," I said, feeling a flash of pride when my voice didn't crack. ". . . Coon-grag-oo-lay-tens."

"Thanks, baby."

I hugged him, and he seemed to appreciate it more than the one his aunt gave him. His arms encircled my waist and his chin rested on my shoulder. I remembered what he said to me in the hospital: he wasn't going to break it off with me when he graduated. And feeling the emotion he was putting into this embrace, I knew he was going to keep his word.

"You must be Pete's mother." Sheila popped up beside us, a warm smile on his face. "I'm Sheila Broflovski, Grey's mother." I felt another flash of joy as she called me her son; I doubt I'll ever get over it.

"If only I was his mother." Penny sound wistful. "I'm Penny Olen, Pete's aunt." She held out a hand that Sheila promptly shook. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. Pete spoke highly of you when my son was in the hospital. Congratulation, Pete, for graduating," she added.

Pete gave a muffled "Thank you," his face buried in my neck.

"He said something nice about me?" Penny flashed a surprised look at the back of Pete's bi-colored head. "That's something new. Pete, why don't you go hand that robe in."

Pete left my arms with great reluctance. "Thank god. I'm tired of this thing."

"Only because it's white," his aunt retorted.

My Goth rolled his dark blue eyes. "I'm going to take Grey with me. If that's okay," he added, looking at Sheila. When she nodded her consent, Pete took my hand and led me to the table where the students were handing in their caps and gowns. Firkle was standing there with Michael as the older Goth struggled to get out of his robe.

"Fuck this thing," he snarled from somewhere within the folds.

"Problems?" asked Pete with a smirk.

"Fuck you, man."

"That's what I have Grey for."

A blush burned up my neck, and Michael made a sound of disgust before appearing from the tent-like graduation robe. He handed the garment to the teacher behind the table.

"Have you seen Henrietta?" Pete pulled the robe over his head, succeeding in taking it off within seconds.

"Her parents took her home to make her more presentable. Ugh. Her family's throwing a party for her; I don't think any of them expected her to graduate."

"Sounds like my parents."

". . . At leash Pen . . . is prood of you."

Pete's eyes softened when he looked at me. "You're right, Grey." He leaned in and kissed me softly. "I love you."

". . . I love you too."


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of "The Goth's Mute." I'm very proud of this piece as it was the first multi-chaptered story I ever completed. (applauds self) 
> 
> The beginning of this is a lemon. Just warning you. :)

". . . Mm . . . Nngh . . ."

"God, babe . . . ugh. . . Ah!"

Pete's grip on my hips tightened almost painfully. I wouldn't doubt if I had bruises blossoming there later tonight. My palms slipped a bit on his sweaty chest. No matter how many times we've made love over the summer, the feeling of his thick cock inside me was still satisfying. I hooked my ankles around his thighs, lifted my hips until only the head of his dick was left inside, and then slammed down. The hot tip struck my prostate dead-on.

". . . Arh!" My moan echoed throughout the bedroom. ". . . Pete!"

"Grey . . . ugn . . . Fuck me, babe!" Pete's dark blue eyes were glazed with lust. "Please," he begged between pants.

I smirked down at him. There was no way I was giving in to him. Has he already forgotten what happened last time? How he had teased me relentlessly? No matter how much I begged and cried to be taken by him? I slowed my pace, earning an angry scowl from my lover. Any other time I would have screwed him into the bed mercilessly, but I'm getting my revenge.

"Damn it, Grey," he growled, then groaned when I slid down as slow as a snail. "Please, babe! I need you."

I shook my head at my Goth.

Pete narrowed his eyes. He lifted his upper body off the bed until we were chest to chest. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that sent shivers down my spine. He shuffled back a bit on his ass then, in a move that happened so fast I couldn't comprehend, had me pinned to the bed. He shoved his dick into my body as far as he could, his heavy balls slapping against my skin.

"Ah!" I threw my head back and my eyes slammed shut as Pete took me almost ruthlessly. I reached in between our bodies and grabbed my dick; it was weeping a steady stream of precum. I whined low in my throat; my body was becoming overwhelmed with pleasure as Pete repeatedly struck my prostate, sending jolts of electricity to every part of my being. My other hand found Pete's back. My nails dug into his skin, most likely leaving crescent shaped welts.

"Grey, come," Pete demanded in a low tone. "Now."

Stars, I love it when he does that. I stroked myself faster and harder until I came with a loud moan that surprised even myself. My cum splattered against our chests, sticky and hot. Pete groaned low. I remembered what it was like being on top with my dick buried in my boyfriend. The almost suffocating feeling that encircled my cock when he came was life-changing; there's nothing that can compare with that delicious vibrating heat that surrounded my member.

"Pete, please!"

As if on cue, my boyfriend pulled out then shoved back in one last time. The familiar feeling of his cum filling me to the brim was satisfying. 

I grunted when he fell onto me but held him close as we fought to catch our breath. 

I could feel some of Pete's semen drip out of my backside, staining his black blanket. But neither of us cared. It was the last free weekend we'd have for a while. Pete was going to college nearby and had gotten a job like he promised his aunt. His work schedule was a bit hectic, and I knew we would only be able to see each other when we weren't attending classes and he wasn't working.

I was planning on staying at his place during this school year. I already have a drawer of my own here, and my toiletries were in the bathroom. It was Pete who insisted that I somewhat move in with him; I'd still be staying at the Broflovskis’ every few nights. That was the deal with Sheila. She seemed reluctant to let me stay somewhere else, but after Pete promising to keep me out of trouble and Gerald agreeing with him, she finally allowed me to go.

Not long after I started staying at Pete's, Firkle was kicked out of his home. His parents had found out about him kissing another male, called him the spawn of Satan and kicked him to the curb. Pete was the first one he turned to; my Goth is allowing him to stay in the second bedroom in the trailer. He's been staying with us since the beginning of July, and so far we haven't had any problems living together, except that we could not have loud sex unless he was out of the house.

"I love you, Pete." 

"I love you too, Grey." Pete nuzzled my neck and pulled out carefully. More of his cum leaked out, but it didn't really bother us. We can wash the blankets in the morning. "You drive me insane when you tease me like that."

I smirked. "Revenge is a bitch, babe."

Pete hmphed then murmured, "I see you're not stuttering anymore."

It was true. I had stopped stuttering on my words a while ago. The Goths had been helping me knock the dust off my vocal cords. It took a few weeks, but I managed to say a full sentence without having to swallow, clear my throat, or stop altogether. Sheila was so surprised when I spoke to her without any problems with my speech. I don't know how much she cried that day but it was a lot.

"You should know that. You had me read Poe for over two hours yesterday."

Pete smiled against my skin. "You read beautifully though."

I hummed a response. We fell into a comfortable silence, holding onto each other as our hearts slowed to normal. My eyelids were growing heavy and Pete's breathing was beginning to even out when an irritated voice called from the other bedroom.

"Are you guys done fucking yet?!"

I laughed aloud at our friend's irritation. Pete shifted until his upper body was lifted off mine, using his arm to hold himself up.

"I thought you weren't home," Pete called, dark blue eyes sparkling with mischief and happiness.

"I've been home, you dick!"

"Oh! Sorry!" Pete smiled down at me. "I think we pissed him off."

"He'll get over it," I answered with a smirk.

"God, I love you."

"I love you too, my Goth."


End file.
